


Captain America and the Wolf's Crown

by Escalus



Category: Captain America (Movies), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War II, F/M, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:57:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7184246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escalus/pseuds/Escalus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During World War II, the Strategic Scientific Reserve works to stop Hydra's plan for world domination.  Captain America and Peggy Carter discover that Hydra is after an artifact known as the Wolf's Crown, which will aid the Red Skull in reshaping the world in his own image.   The Crown requires the power of a True Alpha, and the only one in the world lives in a sleepy town California.</p><p>Meanwhile, in Beacon Hills, it is the quiet before the storm.  The pack has to worry not only about the supernatural but also the problems of the world outside.  Will they even understand what is coming for them before it is too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a crossover between Teen Wolf and Captain America, and I decided to set it during the Second World War. Except for the cultural differences I will address below, Seasons 1, 2, and 3a occurred as they did in canon, but the only part of 3b that has happened is the rescue of Malia. Noshiko's experiences at Oak Creek haven't happened yet.
> 
> Moving the action to the Forties changes the dynamics of the show. Scott would face discrimination not only because he was Mexican but also because his mother was divorced. Stiles would bear the stigmas of his and his mother's mental illness which no longer exist in the modern world. Allison, Malia, and Lydia would be expected to comport themselves like ladies. Danny and Ethan would be considered criminals. 
> 
> In the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the story starts after Captain rescues Bucky and the Howling Commandos from Zola but before Bucky's 'death'. This time period In the movie, The First Avenger, was represented by a montage of the SSR taking Hydra bases.

FEBRUARY 22, 1944

When Scott was thirteen, his mother took him to see _Gone With the Wind_. The movie hadn't held Scott's attention because he had still been at the age where romance was something that only grownups worried about. Sitting in the dark of the theater, he had felt sorry for Scarlett O'Hara and everything she went through, and he remembered her weary grit at the end of the movie: "Tomorrow is another day." It stuck with him.

But after all that happened, Scott worried about tomorrow anyway. It wasn't a specific sort of worry, but a general nagging ache that danger lurked on the horizon. Perhaps he was feeling guilty because everything had been going so well for him and his friends. Comparatively, seniors whom he saw every day in class were getting ready to go fight the Nazis or the Japs. Unlike many of them, he had actually experienced extreme violence, so he understood what terrors they were going to face. He certainly wasn't looking forward to the possibility of being drafted after his senior year. He had a long time before he had to worry about that, though, as he wasn’t going to turn eighteen until October. Maybe the war would be over by then.

Still, as he walked down the hallways of the high school, he couldn't help but smile to himself. Nothing terrible had happened for months after the defeat of the Darach and the Alpha Pack. While Dr. Deaton had suggested that their ritual would bring supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills, rescuing Malia in October had been the only strange occurrence so far. Scott didn’t count this as a bad thing, since it had not only given them a new pack member but it had also helped them come to terms with the immediate consequences of the ritual.

Since then, they had been able to live as normal teenagers, if you didn't count helping Malia adjust to civilized life, and even that hadn't been particularly hard. Some people might have thought that since she had spent eight years as a coyote, she would have the mind of a little girl or the mind of the coyote. What they didn’t realize was that she had actually spent eight years as a _werecoyote_ ; she hadn't been unaware of her own nature or of the passage of time. In some ways, she was the most mature member of the pack as she had been exposed to matters of life and death for far longer than any of them, even the twins. The pack's task had been to help her apply what she had learned to human culture, which, unfortunately, frustrated her more often than not. She really did not understand modesty or chastity; Stiles had started dating her just to keep her from gaining a reputation as a loose girl. The first weeks of that relationship had been really entertaining for everyone in the pack but the two people involved.

Scott chuckled at the memory but his humor faded away into melancholy. He knew it was selfish of him, but he didn’t think it was fair that he was the only one of his friends who didn't have someone. He liked to tell everyone that he was completely fine with Allison dating Isaac; he did think he was doing a good job pretending to be when he knew he really wasn’t. They were happy together, and that was what was most important thing to him. It did mean that he'd be the only one of his group without a date for the Winter Formal.

On the bright side, at least no one was going to try to kill him at this year's dance. Hopefully.

Scott slowed as he heard Stiles’ voice echoing from around the corner of the hallway. He had been listening for his friend, as he wanted to go over some math notes with him before class, but it was impossible to miss the anger in Stiles' voice. It wasn't his frequent humorous irritation; Stiles was truly angry and that always meant trouble. “Are you kidding me right now?”

Scott was started to hear Jackson's voice answer Stiles. Jackson was being defensive, which was very strange for him. “Don't snap your cap; I’m just telling you what Lydia told me.” Jackson had reluctantly joined the pack though he really hadn't had much choice. Jackson’s parents had wanted to send him to London, but they had changed their minds when they heard the horror stories of the Blitz and the newspapers reported that the city was still got bombed by the Nazis pretty regularly. “She’s just as angry about it as you are, but what can she do? Her parents are going to be at the formal; they volunteered to be chaperones.”

“We’ll figure something out. No one tells Scott this.” Stiles's voice implied violence if he was not obeyed. He may have been human, but he could be pretty intimidating when he put his mind to it. “I mean, did they actually say that?” 

“No, I made it up.” Jackson sneered with exasperation. “It's what she said they said: they didn’t want her to be seen in public with that greaser anymore.”

Isaac laughed bitterly. “I’m surprised _your_ parents haven’t said anything.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Scott could imagine them all glaring at each other. Someone slammed a locker closed. It must have been Stiles, because he ground out another accusation. “Really? What do they say?”

“Like I care what they think of you guys.” Jackson answered hotly. “They didn’t notice when I came home covered with blood, so why should I care that they don’t like me hanging around you?”

“You’re avoiding the question, Jackson.” Stiles demanded furiously. Scott could imagine what his face looked like. Isaac seconded Stiles with a grunt. 

“Whatever.” Jackson muttered. Another uncomfortable pause filled the air. Scott kept still so they wouldn't hear him; he shouldn't be eavesdropping, but he was curious. “You’re not going to give me any peace until I tell you, aren’t you?”

Stiles laughed. “It’s like you know me. Spill it.”

Jackson played it off as if it was no big deal; it's what he usually did when he was uncomfortable. “They don’t like me hanging around you guys, but I don't care. I haven't told them about ... things; I'm never going to. McCall’s mother might be okay with it, but I know them: they'd freak out. They’d drag me to every doctor they could think of, and it’d be all over for all of us.” Scott couldn’t see what was going on, but he could imagine it. Jackson had actually become worse at changing the subject since he started being pack. “You’re going to make me say it our loud, aren’t you?”

After a moment, Jackson sighed and continued. “Fine. Just remember, you asked for this. After all the riots, they don’t want me hanging around any Mexicans, especially one whose mother is ... loose. They don’t want me hanging around Isaac because he’s lives with them and he’s a delinquent.” Scott heard Isaac’s sarcastic ‘no!’ in the background. “And they don’t want me hanging around you ‘cause you’re crazy. Happy now?”

“I’m crazy?” shouted Stiles, sounding crazy. “Crazy? That’s ridiculous.”

Neither Jackson nor Isaac spoke for a bit. Stiles suddenly blurted out: “Fuck you guys.”

Scott moved quickly to get there before things got out of control; Stiles had actually cursed. He wiped his eyes which had teared up for whatever reason as he went and then rounded the corner. “Hey! What’s the deal?” 

“These two jackasses,” Stiles pointed at Jackson and Isaac. “Think I’m crazy.”

Jackson rolled his eyes and Isaac responded with an aggrieved, exaggerated sigh. “We didn’t say that, but you’ve been acting strange ever since … we know why, but Jackson’s parents don’t.”

Scott reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “No one here thinks you’re crazy, Stiles. You know that right?” He knew why Stiles had gained a reputation around town; everyone had heard about Claudia Stilinski. Few people had bothered to look beyond the gossip and because of that Stiles had become its new target. They equated him, especially with his hyperkinetic disorder and other eccentric behaviors, with his mother. Things had gotten worse immediately after the ritual, when Stiles had exhibited similar symptoms to his mother's.

Stiles grimaced. It always pained him, and he responded with fury. He wanted to keep lashing out, but instead he blew out an angry breath. “I just hate that word.” He did hate that word, but Scott knew that sometimes Stiles used it about himself. 

“I know.” Scott offered a calming smile to the rest of them. “I’ve got bad news, though. I won’t be able to go to the Winter Formal. Gotta do something for Doc.” He hoped that Jackson and Isaac were so focused on mollifying Stiles that they weren’t listening to his heart. The lie-detection trick only worked when you were paying strict attention to the person lying. He also hoped they would interpret what he smelled like as disappointment for not being able to go to the formal.

Scott watched the telltale signs of relief and guilt flood over his friends. They wouldn’t have to tell him about Lydia’s parents. Jackson even turned around and said, without looking for him. “It’s not like we’ll miss you, McCall.”

“No big deal. Maybe next year, I’ll have a girlfriend.” He laughed out loud – a little too loud – and then went off towards chemistry. He didn’t want to see more guilt on Isaac’s face; he wasn’t sure why he had said that.

Scott had never realized until quite recently, and only then because of all the riots, how strange it was to be one of the few Latinos in Beacon Hills - or, at least, one of the few who went to school. Of course he had heard the names they called Mexicans, but he seldom thought ‘Hey, they’re talking about me.’ He guessed the reason people were so sensitive right now was because of the riots in Los Angeles last summer, though, and maybe he was stupid, he hadn't thought it had anything to do with him. He didn’t even own a Zoot suit. 

He sighed. There would be other formals, and while he knew Allison would dance with him if he asked her, he wouldn’t miss watching her come to the dance with Isaac. Just because he had stopped feeling betrayed didn’t mean he didn’t miss what they once had. 

“Mr. McCall.” A voice arrested his progress. It was Mr. Harris. It had been a shock when the chemistry teacher had shown back up after the Darach had been defeated. The pack had been sure he had been a sacrifice along with the others, and he still might have been; everyone could see the ugly scar across his throat. What had been more surprising was the change in his demeanor. He was no longer openly hostile to students, though he was still sour. Students still groaned when they got him for chemistry or physics, but the amount of time they spent in detention had dropped significantly.

“Uh, hi, Mr. Harris.” He turned to face the teacher, who was smiling widely. This sent a shudder down Scott’s spine. “I didn’t do anything!”

Mr. Harris smile got a tiny bit wider. Scott couldn’t tell if it was because of the fear the teacher inspired or some strange fondness Harris might have for him. After his return, his scent was always seemed fainter and a little bit off. “I know that. I did happen to notice that you now own a motorcycle.”

“Yeah. It's a RL 45 that Stiles and I found. It was a wreck, but I put it back together last summer.” Scott wondered if Harris liked motorcycles. It wouldn’t be the first strange thing he found out about an adult. 

“That's very industrious of you, and as a coincidence that happen's to be very good for me. I would like to hire you for a task that I need done. I'm working on a project with a friend of mine who lives near Mendocino on the coast, and I need someone to carry materials back and forth. I want you to do it; I’ll pay you forty dollars a trip. They will always be on Saturdays and I'll usually need you to do it every week.”

“Wow.” That was a lot of money. “Thanks. I’d have to ask my mom, but …” He stopped. “I didn’t think you liked me.”

Mr. Harris stepped closer to him. “I may be petty and vindictive, Mr. McCall, but I am not stupid.” He touched the scar on his throat. “I may not have all the details, but I know enough to know that you have earned a little more consideration for your efforts on my behalf. You deserve this opportunity.” 

Scott didn’t hear any lies there, and Mom and he could really use the money. “Okay. I’ll do it. On Saturday?” He would totally run it by Stiles first just in case there was anything that he should have asked about but hadn’t. 

Harris nodded. “You know where my house is. Be prompt at 8:00 a.m., Mr. McCall.”

###### 

FEBRUARY 24, 1944

Lydia cornered him after school in the parking lot. “What is this about you not going to the Winter Formal?” She was wearing a boxy jade half-coat over a chocolate sheathe dress. It always made him happy to see her paying attention to things like fashion once again. No matter how deep into the world of the supernatural Lydia got, the impression she made on the natural world had always remained important to her.

“I have things I need to do.” Scott said defensively. “It’s just a dance.”

“Scott McCall, are you lying to me?” Lydia smoothed her skirt with one hand. “I may not be able to listen to your heartbeat, but I'm pretty good at figuring those type of things out. I don’t like my friends lying to me.”

“Why would I lie to you? You know it was gonna be awkward for me anyway, right? I mean, the last Winter Formal was difficult for all of us, so why try to force myself to go to this one?”

“When did all my friends learn the art of deflection?” She scolded. “Yes, I know that it is going to be difficult. Last year was the absolute worst, but that is why this dance is important! We can’t let this …” She gestured and he knew exactly what she was talking about. “… take over everything. And I want all of my friends there. Aren’t you my friend, Scott?”

“Of course!” Scott protested hotly. He looked over to where people were watching them. “Why don’t we go somewhere else and talk?”

Uh-oh. Lydia was giving him the you-think-I-don’t-know-what-this-is-about-but-I-so-totally-do glare. “Did my parents talk to you?”

“Huh?” Oh, no. “No, Lydia!”

“Are you not going to the Formal so I don't get in trouble with my parents? Because I can assure you that I don't care about that at all, no matter what my nineteenth-century parents thnk about it. They don’t get to pick my friends.” She grabbed him by the arm and pinched him with the other hand. “Scott McCall, you may be good at heroics, but you can't tell a lie to save your life. Look me in the eye and tell me the truth; I deserve it. You know how much I hate being kept in the dark.”

“Uhm.” Scott hated when he did things like this, but she was right. They had concealed things from her, so she deserved the truth, even if that made him such an idiot. “No, your parents didn’t talk to me, but I might … have overheard something.”

“Do you so think so little of me that I would agree with my parents about you?” Lydia was furious. She squeezed his arm tightly with her hand. “You crumb!” 

“No, I didn't!” Scott said lamely. “I just thought it might be nice for you to go to a Winter Formal without anything bad happening to you, like fighting with your parents or getting bit by a monster.” 

Lydia clucked her tongue in annoyance. “You know they are going to take turns killing you when I tell them this. I am sure Allison will stab you at least four times.” She was smiling, but it was a sad smile, as if to say that this was their life. “You’re going to have to listen to Stiles for days.”

“You can’t tell them,” Scott spoke earnestly. “I don’t need to go to a dance for you guys to be my friends. I know you care about me; I do. You’re my pack. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you -- even not go to a dance so you don't get embarrassed in public.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “You are such a chucklehead. Next time, ask me first before you decide to do something for me.”

“I promise, Lydia. But I want you to have fun at the formal, and don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

###### 

FEBRUARY 26, 1944

Scott frowned as he walked alone through the city streets on the night of the formal. “I am definitely not fine,” he said to the air. It was freaking cold, and he was bored. He had neglected to tell his mother about not going to the dance. He did not want to make her have to lie for him to his friends, so he decided to get out of the house. It was very cold. Even with having a warmer body temperature than humans, he was freezing.

The streets were dark. Blackout rules were in effect, even though no one thought the Japanese would actually attack any more. At least that wasn’t bothersome to him; he could see easily. 

“Way to go, McCall,” he muttered to himself. Finally, he decided to go to Derek’s old loft in the center of the city. Derek and Peter had gone with Cora to South America when it had become clear that Derek wasn't going to be able to avoid the draft for much longer. It had been the Hale’s family practice to avoid human wars, and both Derek and Peter were 'legally' of draft age –- even though no one in the pack had any idea what their real ages were. They had left with a promise to return after the war’s end.

Strangely enough, Derek had been the one to suggest that the now-no-longer alpha twins use his loft. Scott had been pretty amazed by this decision until a rather talkative Derek –- it could happen –- explained it in this way. “They want to earn a place in the pack? They want to make up for what they’ve done? Then I want them to wake up every day and remember what they did; I want them to see where Boyd died. I own the building, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” Before he left, Derek had given Deaton his power-of-attorney and given Scott a key as well should the twins become dangerous.

They had not, and Scott was glad for it. He was willing to let them try to redeem themselves, mostly because his pack had told him that they had changed sides before the climax of their fight with the alpha pack. They had also been seriously hurt in the battle against Miss Blake. It felt like enough for him to give them another chance.

After walking up the staircase, he knocked on the door. He would have called first but Derek had never had a telephone installed in his house. Derek's parents had been distrustful of telephones, and the former alpha shared their dislike. If he needed to, Derek would walk downstairs to use the payphone in the foyer.

Aiden pulled open the door, his face was grim. As he stood there watching Scott, anyone could see that he was tense and anxious, but he was trying to control it.

Scott decided to be friendly. “Nothing's wrong. Just visiting.” 

Aiden frowned and walked away from the door. “Come in.” Aiden’s voice betrayed something very close to relief.

Scott came in and took off his jacket. It wasn’t as cold inside as it was outside, but any normal human would have been chilled by the room's temperature. “Is there something the matter?”

“No,” Aiden said carefully as if he was trying not to anger him. “I just never know when I see you if this is the day.” 

Scott scrunched up his face. “What day?”

“The day you come to kill us.” Aiden shrugged and walked over to sit down on a chair. 

Scott sighed and went over to sit next to him. “Why do you always think I want to kill you? Did you lie about wanting to make up for what you did? Are you planning to attack us? Kill people?”

“We’re not,” Aiden said. “Ethan isn’t. I don’t, really.” He seemed tired as well as anxious. “I just keep thinking one of these days you are going to remember that we came into your territory and killed your friends and you’re gonna ask yourself ... why are they still breathing?”

“Can’t you just trust me when I say that’s not going to happen? We’re not like that.” Scott mentally added that he wasn’t like that. Stiles and Isaac were totally like that. “Where is Ethan, by the way?” 

Aiden looked at him for a moment and said carefully. “Out with Danny.” 

“Danny? I didn’t know they knew each other.” 

Aiden snorted at him but studied the floor. “You really don’t know?” 

Scott was totally confused about what he didn't know.

“They’re queers. I thought you would have sensed it.” Aiden shrugged. “Duke figured it out and had Ethan get to know Danny like I got to know Lydia. I’m sorry if we should have told you or something, but I thought you would have known. It’s kind of obvious if you pay attention.”

Scott was flabbergasted. He had known Danny for years, but he hadn't had any idea. He knew that men being with men was illegal and that it was against the Bible, but he hadn’t really thought about it at all. "Uhm. Sorry, no, I didn't sense it. It can be sensed? It … it doesn’t bother you?”

“I’m a werewolf; I don’t really care what humans think. It doesn’t make Ethan any less my brother; he’s still a better tracker than me and he’ll kick any of your betas' asses.” He noticed that Scott was staring at him. “Most born wolves don’t really think about it.”

“I like Danny,” Scott said slowly. “I like Ethan, too, even though you guys seem to think I don’t. So I won’t care either. It’s just hard to imagine.” He probably would think about it more when he had time. “So you’re just sitting here alone?”

“Not much to do. Person I like doesn’t like me. If I get a real job or if I go to school, they’re gonna ask how old I am.”

“How old are you?” 

“I’m twenty in human years,” Aiden shrugs. “But the Hales are right –- everyone knows that a werewolf joining the army is a recipe for disaster. It's hard enough if you're behind the lines, but if you get sent to the front ... ”

Scott listened as Aiden talked about the draft, but he finally realized was going on. Aiden was feeling trapped and lonely. Unable to leave; unable to stay; not really welcome in his pack, not really welcome anywhere. Scott didn't want him to think like that. “I know you think that things aren’t going to change, but they can, and they will. Just keep doing what you are doing, and things will get better. You just have to work at it. Got any cards?”

###### 

Across the city, in his modest home, Adrian Harris was talking on the phone. He wasn't anything like the Hales.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Woltzmann. The subject doesn’t suspect a thing; separate him from his little friends and he’s really quite stupid. But he is all that you need, I guarantee it.” Harris listened to the response without interruption. 

After a minute, he rolled his eyes. “I trust that this will more than make up for the assistance you rendered to me, though I’ll be more than happy to continue working for appropriate remuneration. This town is going to see a lot of strange things from what I understand, and it might benefit you to have someone keep you informed.” The voice on the other end of the phone gave him what he wanted and Harris smiled nastily. 

“Yes, of course. I’ll keep in touch.” There is a squawk on the other end. “Oh. Certainly. Hail Hydra.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to fans of the Hale family, but I couldn't see them staying in the U.S. and risk getting drafted. It was a tough decision. 
> 
> I also felt I had to have a reason for Derek to let Aiden and Ethan use his loft. I know it happened on the show because they only have a limited number of sets, but since I have unlimited sets, I needed a reason.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find myself terribly fascinated by how the dynamic of the show would have to change to have existed in this time period. If you find an anachronism or you have suggestions on something I have missed, please add it to the comments. 
> 
> If you find grammatical errors or OOC actions -- I am trying to replicate the characters and actions of Seasons 1 - 3a as closely as possible -- please let me know. I will edit. The change of perspective is where I am having my fun, and the more help I get the more fun I'll have. I hope you enjoy it as well.

MARCH 2, 1944

Steve, Peggy, and a soldier that must have been new to the unit – Steve thought his name was Kinnison – huddled down behind a strategy table that Steve had upended. A Hydra soldier had them pinned down with a machine gun from a position above the room. Cap turned to Peggy and the private and observed: “Did you see that beach out there?”

Kinnison went bug-eyed at the question. He did lose the panicked expression he had been wearing ever since the machine gunner had started firing. Peggy smirked at Cap with an exasperated fondness; she knew what he was trying to do. “Yes, I did, but right now, I am thinking of that file room," she quipped. "Enemy secrets first, beaches later.”

Steve donned his best leader voice. “Private, I’ve never been on a beach on a Greek island. I want to see what it's like. Do you want to? Then this is what we have to do. I’m going over the top of this table, Carter will go left, and while he’s trying to shoot at us, you're going to get in through that door. Understood?”

Private Kinnison gaped while glanced at Major Carter. Steve made a mental note to give him the ‘speech’ later. Kinnison swallowed nervously and nodded his understanding. 

“On the count of three, let’s go.” The plan would work. Hydra soldiers were ridiculously loyal for some reason, and every one of them wanted to be the person who killed Captain America. It was very predictable that they would fire at him first, and predictability could be used in combat. Steve was confident he could block the machine gun’s bullets long enough for either Peggy or Kinnison to take the gunner out.

The fight was over quickly, but even though he was stronger and faster and tougher than everyone else in the fight, he was still breathing heavily afterwards. His ears rang from the sound of gunfire hitting his shield. Once the room was secure, Peggy immediately began sorting through the papers. Hydra installations had the annoying tendency to blow up once it was clear that they had been lost.

Kinnison and he secured the perimeter while Peggy searched the file room. Steve smiled to himself when he heard Peggy start cursing like a sailor; Kinnison flinched. He felt bad because that meant that the Hydra soldiers must have destroyed most of the files; their cabinets were equipped with traps meant to prevent both enemies and allies from learning their secrets.

“Kinnison?” He could keep an eye out for enemies while still talking to the private. “I couldn't help but notice that you hesitated when I told you the plan.”

Kinnison looked down but he didn’t deny it. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m guessing your parents taught you that you had to protect girls, right? Well, that’s good. That’s really good, but they taught you that because most girls aren’t taught how to protect themselves. In fact, they’re taught that it’s wrong for them to be able to protect themselves. Well, Major Carter isn’t like that. I swear she could beat any man in this unit, even me. I also guarantee that if she sees you hesitating to follow orders because of her … well, it won’t be pretty. So, don’t do it.”

Kinnison gulped. “Yes, sir.”

Another soldier came in to let them know that the base was secured. Steve smiled; no running from an exploding complex today! He gave orders to start the clean up. He was about to go check the perimeter when he heard Peggy’s exclamation.

“Captain? Come up here. I think I found something … something quite important.”

###### 

An hour or so later, Peggy debriefed Colonel Phillips, Captain America, and their staff in their makeshift HQ on the island. Steve stared at the beach that was visible beyond the walls of the command tent; he hadn’t been completely joking about wanting to enjoy it. 

“As usual, Hydra’s logistics personnel were very thorough in destroying all sensitive information,” explained Peggy. “But this time, one of them made a mistake. I can only speculate someone was working on this file when the attack began, and it slipped under the desk in the confusion. Unlucky for them, lucky for us.”

She put up on the wall a picture of a very sleek looking submarine taken from their own files. “This is the _Jormungandr_ , Hydra’s prototype submarine. It's twice as fast as any other submarine in the water and is capable of remaining submerged for far longer than any of them either. It’s powered by that same energy source they’ve been using so effectively.”

Phillips snorted. “Well, Schmidt seems to be continuing with his penchant for pretentious names. It’s no joke though. Nothing can touch it, and everyone is very glad Hydra’s only got one.” 

“So you found out something about it we can use to take it out?” asked Steve.

“Yes, along with something a little more interesting. This is an itinerary for the present mission of the _Jormungandr_. It left two days ago from its pen in Norway. Two things about this itinerary are very interesting.” She wrote longitude and latitude coordinates on the board. “This is the first one.”

Steve knew how to find a point on a map but he hadn’t memorized the globe. “That’s in the Pacific Ocean.”

“Yes,” agreed Peggy. “It’s right off the coast of Northern California.” That electrified the room. “The second one is even more important. According to this, there is a pretty good chance that Schmidt is on the _Jormungandr_.” 

Colonel Phillips stood up out of his chair. “Why the hell would Schmidt actually be coming to the United States? That would be incredibly dangerous, and it’s not his usual behavior.”

“Which means,” Peggy stated, “that what he is after must be incredibly important.”

“But it also means that we have a chance to catch him,” said Steve. “Colonel, I’d like to request a trip home? If Schmidt’s there, I should be, too.”

Colonel Phillips weight his options while staring at nothing in the corner of the tent. “Alright, Captain, you and Major Carter get on a plane as soon as possible. This is a domestic situation, so you’ll have to coordinate with the FBI. You’ll _love_ dealing with Hoover.” Supposedly, Phillips and Hoover hated each other. “The rest of the SSR will clean this place up and prepare for the next Hydra installation. You get a shot at the Red Skull, you end this.”

Steve gritted his teeth. Without Schmidt, Hydra would not nearly be dangerous; it had a lot of resources, but without Schmidt’s leadership, it’d be just another part of the German army. 

###### 

MARCH 4, 1944

Stiles tapped Scott on the shoulder. “Hey, Hey, Scott? Class has been over for like three minutes.” Scott startled out of his reverie that was focused on the scene outside the window. He had been finding it hard to concentrate since the Winter Formal last week. 

“I’m sorry. I’m just distracted.” Scott admitted and started gathering his books. 

Stiles looked at the emptying room. The teacher had already left the room, leaving them alone. “What’s bothering you?” 

“I’m fine.” Scott immediately regretted that. Recently, he and Stiles had promised each other to stop saying those words to each other unless they really meant it. “I meant it’s nothing big.”

Stiles stared at him. “Well it may not be big, but it has you missing the fact that class has ended, which is a new thing for you. Come on, spill it.” He had that look on his face that said he wasn’t going to give up on it. He had obviously taken his Benzedrine this morning.

“Oh. Okay. It’s just that I am still a little shocked that Lydia’s and Jackson’s parents don’t like me.” The moment Scott said that, he realized that he had never told Stiles what he had overheard, but he did remember that his best friend was adamant that he not learn about it. Scott was really out of it today, and it was going to cause no end of trouble.

Stiles looked angry -- really angry. “That is because they’re idiots. They don’t even know you. Did you lie to me?”

Scott looked down at his books and got up so he would have a reason not to answer him. He was used to how Stiles thought, so he knew exactly what he meant by that non sequitur. Sneaking things past his best friend had always been difficult, but he was hopeful he could evade the consequences this time. 

Stiles got in front of him, physically. “I know what you're trying to do, and you know that I know what you're trying to do, and you should also know that you aren’t going to do what you're trying to do, so you're going to answer the question.”

“Yes. Sorry. I didn’t want to cause a problem.” 

“Well, you just did.” Stiles's anger burned white hot. “You don’t ever do that. I know who you are, don’t I? You need to quit it with the martyr stuff, Scott.” 

“It was just a dance.”

“You know,” Stiles began, “it starts out with just a dance, then it moves on to just a game, and then it’s just a friend, and then, it’s just your life. Sometimes I think …” He bit the inside of his lip. “You know what, why don’t you just agree not to do it again. Lydia is going to kill you when she finds out.”

“She already did,” Scott smiled ruefully. “She was just as mad as you are.”

“See. Lydia Martin agrees with me, which means not only am I right – and I am always, always, always right – but I am doubly right. So." He pauses. “What are you thinking about?”

“I guess I just like the fact that my friends hang around me even if I am a greaser.” He smiled as if it was a joke. He wasn’t going to tell Stiles about what Aiden had told him.

The joke did not land well at all. His best friend's eyebrow twitched in inchoate rage. “You ever say that word to me again, and I will take you out in the woods and leave you in a mountain ash circle for a _month_. I can’t talk to you right now.” Stiles stormed off. 

Scott raced after him, asking for him to stop, but Stiles was still too angry. Finally, he just let him storm away. He’d apologize later. He wondered why Stiles was so upset; it had been a joke.

Jackson was right next to him, leaving his own class. “What’s Stilinksi’s problem?”

“Me, apparently.” Scott shrugged. “I’m not sure why. I’ve been making everyone angry recently.” He turned to Jackson, as if trying to gauge the guy’s mood. He wanted to ask him a question, but while they had grown to more than tolerate each other, there had always been an undercurrent of antagonism between them, even after Jackson had accepted him as alpha. “How are you?”

“It’s another day.” That was Jackson. He seldom let his mask of indifference drop in public unless he had to. He grabbed his coat and straightened his tie. His parents insisted he wear a tie to school. 

“Hey, you got a moment?” Scott isn’t sure what he was doing right then, but ever since the night of the dance, he couldn’t stop thinking about things he had discovered that week. It nagged at him so much that he had just pissed off Stiles and now he might just piss off Jackson.

“Sure.” Jackson glanced down the hall. “Locker room?” It had been known that the basketball team basically used the room as their clubhouse when it wasn’t being used for other things. Champions had their privileges. 

Jackson started. “I thought everything was quiet.” 

“It is, it is, this isn’t necessarily anything bad or dangerous.” Scott hesitated. “I mean, it could be a problem, but … “ He wanted to ask, but it was hard. It was just so strange to him. He had heard about it only in veiled insults and scandalous stories about the big cities. “Do you know about Ethan and Danny?”

Jackson’s face went through a transformation – not the shift – but a parade of emotions, including fear, anger, and desperation. For a second there, Scott thought that Jackson was going to attack him but in the end, he didn't. It did take a few minutes for him to calm down until the beta could speak with mundane calm. “We don’t talk about it.”

Scott realized he was surprised at the non-answer. Instinct?

Jackson’s voice was suddenly pleading. “We don’t talk about it. Please.” Scott had known how important Jackson was to Danny, but he hadn’t realized until he heard the emotion in Jackson's voice that Danny was as important to Jackson as Stiles was to him. 

“Forget I asked, Jackson. I won’t talk about it again.” 

###### 

MARCH 5, 1944

Scott was putting the dishes away from dinner as his mother was getting ready for work. Everyone else was doing something tonight, and several people had asked him to come over once his mother had left – since she always worked nights, he tried to spend as much time with her as possible – but he had refused them all. He did not understand why, but he was still listless.

“Mom?” He called out, suddenly. “Do you have time before you have to go into the hospital?”

“Of course, honey.” She came in and saw the look of consternation on his face. “What’s the matter?”

Scott came over and stood next to her. “Do people ever … do people not like you because you’re Mexican? Or because you divorced Dad?”

“Scott, there are always going to be people who are so insecure in their lives that they want to see certain other people as automatically below them. I don’t worry about them; I just feel pity for them, because no matter how many people they step on, they won’t get any stronger.” She rubbed his head. “You’ve encountered this before, you know.”

Scott just looked at her. He’s heard the slur before, but it had never been directed just at him. “I have?”

“You’ve told me about hunters who don’t follow a code. They hunt werewolves because they are werewolves. It’s the same thing, honey. It’s a self-serving hate.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Only worry about it when they have power over you – otherwise, it only poisons them.”

Scott loved it when she talked like this; he loved it because he is so lucky to have her, but he couldn't shake the feeling she wasn't telling everything. “Mom, does anyone who feels that way have power over you?”

His mother smiled at him but it was sad and tempered by resignation. “I’d like to say no, but I can’t. There’s a reason I always have to work nights. But that’s not your problem.” She patted him on the head and went to get ready. She would need to leave soon to walk to the hospital.

Scott watched her leave. He had never asked before, and he wondered, for the first time, if he was really as oblivious as his friends teased him about being. His mother's answers made him listless and uneasy. Perhaps he should go out with his friends for the night. Stiles and Malia, Allison and Isaac were going to the theater double feature: the next installment of _Batman_ and _Shadow of a Doubt_ , the new Hitchcock picture. Lydia and Jackson were going to dinner with their parents and then dancing at the country club, so he guess he would have to pass on that. Lydia had still invited him though; sometimes she just had to prove her point.

He found himself walking down the streets toward the movie theater. He wasn’t really in the mood to see a film, he decided, but he wasn’t going to sulk at home on a Friday night. He had a long drive tomorrow for Mr. Harris out to the coast. He found himself taking a longer route which meant he’d never make it to the theater in time for the serial, but Scott’s enthusiasm for the cinema was waning by the moment. Instead, he came to stand in front of a run-down building in one of the grimier parts of the city. He had heard rumors about the place; it wouldn’t hurt to check it out. 

This had to be the place of which the rumors spoke. Not only could he hear Lena Horne’s “Stormy Weather” coming from the top floor, but he definitely caught the scent of both Danny and Ethan. He hesitated only for a moment before he went in. 

The bottom two floors of the building was some sort of industrial cleaning company that had long since gone out of business. It was dark, dusty and uninviting. A single stairway crawled up the side of the building on the inside, with only a single narrow bulb on it. There were no signs at all. You would probably have to find it by reputation only. It wasn’t a problem for him with his senses, but he wondered why they didn’t at least try to spruce it up.

A man stopped him at the door. He must have been some sort of bouncer; he was big and glum. He didn’t ask Scott any questions, just looked him over and said “Five dollar cover.” That was an awful lot of money, and it almost made him turn around and leave, but his curiosity won out.

The room was darker than he thought it would be, but it was filled with noise. Beyond the jukebox – which was playing Glenn Miller’s version of ‘That Old Black Magic” – there was a dance floor, a line of booths along the side, and scattered groupings of tables. There were a lot of men here. Scott briefly glimpsed Ethan on the dance floor; he didn’t want to ruin his evening so he moved quickly to the other end of the bar. 

He sat down, feeling vaguely uncomfortable, and just waited for the bartender to get to him. 

“Well, you’re new,” said a voice next to him, and Scott realized that it was a guy next to him, but he wasn’t dressed as a guy, but as a woman. Actually, as Marlene Dietrich from _Desire_. He had heard about these people as well: transvestites.

“Hi.” There was no need to be rude. “I’m Scott.”

“Oh, you precious lamb. I’m Pixie, and your first lesson for tonight is no one here uses their real name. Blackmail is a real thing, darling.” She laughs and imperiously waves for the bartender over. “Do you want a beer?” 

“How’d you know I used my real name?” He asked, wide-eyed, and then admitted “And, I’m not old enough to buy beer.”

“When you’ve been here as long as I have, lamb, you know when someone is playing the game, and you don’t even know what the game is. And if you didn’t want to break the law, you shouldn’t have come in here, no? This is your first time at the Jungle, isn’t it?” The man laughed. “And you have terrible timing.”

“Yeah, yeah it is.” Scott thought he would be more uncomfortable with a transvestite talking to him, but he could sense Pixie was just being friendly. It wouldn’t hurt to be friendly back. “I’ll just have a Coca-Cola though.” He wasn’t going to buy a beer when it wouldn’t do anything for him. “Why do I have bad timing?”

“Once a month, the Sheriff has to raid this place for public indecency,” Pixie explained as the bartender gets Scott his drink at the drag queen’s say so. “It should be happening sometime this weekend. If it happens while you’re here, you need to use that door right next to the jukebox. See it? All the fledglings and the married roosters use it; the Sheriff never puts a deputy out back.” 

“He doesn’t?” Scott was surprised. He didn’t think that the Sheriff he knew would do something like that.

“Oh, no. He doesn’t want to ruin someone’s marriage or some child’s life, so he gives us plenty of warning with his sirens. He’ll arrest a couple of us, but he has to raid us if he wants to get re-elected. You can’t be seen as tolerating us fairies.” Pixie laughed. “I voted for him.” 

“Huh.” Scott sipped on his drink. He hadn’t known about that; Stiles’ father had never spoken about it. But why would he? 

As he was talking to Pixie, he realized that he must have been spotted at some point. Now Ethan was standing directly behind him. When he turned around, the werewolf twin stared at him with confusion, anger, and fear. “What are you doing here?”

“Relax,” Scott replied, calmly. “I’m not here to cause trouble.” 

Ethan did not actually snarl, because everyone in the bar would have been able to see it. However, the snarl was clearly concealed within his words. “Can I talk to you? Outside?”

Scott told Pixie thanks and goodbye and then followed Ethan through another doorway and up to the roof. They were alone; while patrons of the Jungle could come up here for fresh air, this early in March it was still chilly. “Are you checking up on me?” Ethan did snarl a little bit when he said that.

Scott seldom pulled out his alpha authority among his pack; he’d much rather have them be his friends than be afraid of him. Sometimes, though, it was useful to do so, especially when friends like Ethan got too emotional. His eyes flashed red in response to the snarl. “Would there be a problem if I was?”

Ethan allowed himself to look ashamed for a moment. He began again, more conciliatory. “It’s not … it’s Danny. He saw you and he got frightened. He wasn’t expecting anyone he knew to be here. You know he’s got more to lose than I do.”

“I know.” Scott felt like shouting, but he didn't know why. He controlled it. “I don’t even know why I came here. I just … when Aiden told me, I just started worrying. You could get arrested, Ethan. Pixie was telling me about the raids …”

“I can handle them. I’m not going to stop seeing Danny, if that’s what you are trying to say.”

“No.” Scott suddenly looked into Ethan’s eyes and flashed red once again; he finally knew what was bothering him. “That’s not what I am trying to say. That’s not why I am here. You didn’t tell me this, and I want to know why. Did you think I’d hurt you? You think I’d throw you out of the pack? Call the police?” Now, he was angry, but not at Ethan. He was angry because he thought that if they could get all the supernatural trouble out of the way, everything would be all right, but the last few weeks had shown that trouble of some sort was always going to be there. Even if he was just human, even if he didn’t have to fight monsters, there was always going to be something else to ruin things. For God’s sake, there was a war on; in less than a year, he could be drafted and go kill people. Tomorrow, he was driving hundreds of miles just to make a few extra bucks. People were telling their children to stay away from him. It was never going to be all right.

Ethan wasn’t able to tell that he wasn’t the target of his anger. “I didn’t know. I’m just used to hiding it, and Danny is too. I couldn’t hide it from my brother, but … I’m sorry.” 

"It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me everything about your life,” he said heavily. “But don’t think you _have_ to hide things from me. If you don’t trust me, then this can’t work.” None of it can work. Suddenly, he just wanted to go home. 

Both of them looked up at the same time as they heard the sirens. “That’s the sheriff, warning everyone he’s coming. Let’s get them out of here.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work employs ableist language. The 1940s were not a great time to have a mental illness, as it was stigmatized socially and often misunderstood.

MARCH 17, 1944

“This is my first time in San Francisco,” Peggy observed on the sidewalk out in front of the FBI office, staring out over the bay. “I must say it is a very picturesque city.” 

Steve swiped the overseas hat off his head and put it under one arm. “I was here once before on a bond tour. The city is old and young at the same time.” He craned his neck to look up at the rather nondescript building. “If we have any time after we’re done, I’ll show you around.”

“Old and young at the same time?” Peggy asked absently, taking her small notebook out and rereading a few pages. Steve knew she was reviewing what she had on the G-men they were going to meet.

“The city was founded in 1776 when it was a Spanish colony, but eighty percent of the city was demolished in 1906 by an earthquake. Most of the area we’re in right now is less than forty years old.” Even though he was talking about a terrible disaster, he was enjoying being in a city that had not seen war. It felt refreshing or maybe that was the warm spring day after a long winter.

“You know your history.” She looked up at him with a smile, but now it was time to go back to business. “How do you want to play it if they try to stonewall us?”

“Why would they do that?” Steve wondered out loud. “What’s Hoover got against Colonel Phillips anyway?”

“Colonel Phillips managed to keep Hoover in the dark about a major project until it was publicly revealed. Hoover took it as a snub, and he should have, because it was. Chester hates fascists, and he considers Hoover the closest thing America has to a closet fascist with power.” 

Steve smiled because that certainly sounded like the colonel. “Which project did he hide?” Peggy walked over and poked him in the chest. “Oh.” Me. “If we need a distraction, I guess I’ll give ‘em some celebrity razzle-dazzle so you can get what you need.”

“I’m beginning to be disappointed. Usually, I’m the one who has to slide my skirt up a few inches to cause a distraction.” 

Steve smirked. “My legs are better.” Their laughter drew some attention from bystanders as they entered the building.

The Assistant Director’s office ended up being like hundreds of other offices Steve had encountered during his time dealing with government bureaucracy: determinedly non-unique. Harold Rickett had no personal items at all in view save for a single baseball trophy from high school. Obviously, the years had not been kind to the assistant director, leaving him with nothing but a horseshoe of gray hair, a bulbous red nose, and a terrible personality. “We want to thank the SSR for alerting us to the possibility of espionage within our jurisdiction. The man to my right is Special Agent Fordham, who I have put in charge of the investigation. Is there anything else that you can tell us about what we should be looking for?” The assistant director was trying to be confident and secure, but instead he gave off an air of aggrieved antagonism. 

“All the intelligence we had, you’ve been given, Assistant Director.” Peggy displayed her best we-are-fully-cooperating face. “May I inquire as to the steps you’ve taken to confirm that intelligence?”

Steve gave the Assistant Director his most winning smile, but he would follow military protocol. Peggy ranked him, so she got to speak.

“We've gone through our list of potential German espionage agents near those coordinates. We've asked the local shore patrols to heighten their watchfulness. We've performed standard surveillance of all possible landing areas. Nothing has come up so far.” 

Steve saw Special Agent Fordham’s left hand twitch involuntarily. Inwardly, he sighed. _Yeah, they are stonewalling us._ Outwardly, he smiled and played the good guy. “Well, that’s disappointing. We’ve stretched our legs all the way from Europe in order to find nothing. Any chance something will turn up?” 

Peggy was too good an agent to openly react to his words, but he was confident she recognized the odd turn of phrase as an indicator that the distraction was a go.

The Assistant Director tried to give them what he thought was a sagacious nod. “We just have to be patient. Stateside, things tend to go a little slower. We have to get warrants and things like that.” 

Steve decided to use his best aw-shucks demeanor. For some reason, people tended to forget he was from Brooklyn and not from the sticks. “I don’t suppose while you have time, I could bug you for a tour of the building? I’ve never seen real G-men’s offices.”

Special Agent Fordham agreed to it readily enough. Steve was still a celebrity from his movies and bond tours. Peggy asked if there was a telephone somewhere she could use, and Fordham volunteered to let her use his secretary’s. It was a subconscious attack on her authority, but Peggy smiled her best accommodating smile and went along with it. Steve was sure she would not feel at all bad for breaking into his office.

The agents might have been hostile to the SSR’s mission, but they were more than happy to spend time with Captain America, and Steve dragged it out for as long as he could. He never realized that the work he had done in show business would actually be directly helpful in his new role. 

When Steve and Peggy returned to the hotel that had been provided for them, night had truly fallen. While she disappeared into her bathroom – which she had already turned into a portable dark room – he arranged for dinner for two by room service. She was going to stay in there until the entire roll was developed, he just knew it.

He immediately recognized her anger when she finally emerged from the dark room. “This is so irresponsible.” 

“Well, sure it is. Eat first, yell later.” They were not in a war zone; they could live like civilized people for at least a half-hour. He had set up dinner on the table in the room. Steve talked through most of the meal, telling stories of traveling in the western United States. 

“So,” Steve said as he put the plates back on the cart. “How bad is it?”

Peggy started going back over the files. “It wouldn’t be so bad if they showed the slightest understanding about how dangerous Hydra and Schmidt could be. They treated it as just another unsubstantiated report, performing minimal diligence, while ladling on some political corruption and ass-covering.”

Peggy set aside a stack of photographs of documents. “The first thing they did was check up on all their suspected German spies, even though in the briefing we sent them, we told them that Hydra maintains its own separate networks. I suppose if you respected their work ethic, you wouldn’t have to call it a complete waste of time, but that is exactly what I am calling it.”

“If Schmidt is coming here, Hydra would only use its own people.” He rested a hand on his chin. “Any leads at all?”

“I’m getting to that. The coastline area closest to the _Jormungandr_ ’s destination coordinates is one large estate, called Sanderling Roost. The Barker family owns it as well as the Barker Seed Company, the fourth-largest seed company in the United States. Sanderling Roost sits on three hundred acres with four separate buildings on it – none of which can be seen from outside the property. Primary access is through a secure gate.”

Steve made a face. “That’s not suspicious at all.” 

“I’d call it suspicious, yes, but hardly worthy of a warrant. Rickett isn’t totally stupid, just sloppy and incautious. The Barkers are politically connected to half the state legislature and the Governor.” She pointed it out on the copies she had made. “They are maintaining a discrete watch on the estate.”

“Any possible connection to Hydra? To the Axis?”

“Hiram Barker III is the president of Barker Seeds and they’ve done business with all the Axis powers. There is a non-business connection through Barker’s mother: Katarina Woltzmann Barker. She is a biologist – a geneticist, actually – born in Berlin in 1883. She immigrated to the United States in 1903.” 

Steve frowns. “That’s not much. We should send it to HQ; see if they have any luck with it.” He hated the idea of investigating someone just for being from Germany, but leads were few and far between.

“I’ll send a copy of everything tomorrow morning.” Peggy handed him another list. “They have had an agent maintaining a watch on the main road for the last few weeks, but not around-the-clock surveillance. He’s confirmed most of the vehicles coming in and out – on his watch – only one of them seems significantly out-of-place.”

Steve looks over to where she is pointing. “Two Saturdays in a row a motorcycle arrives just before noon and departs after an exchange of packages? That looks like a courier to me. The Barkers are probably rich enough to use a bonded courier service. What do we have on that?”

“Here is where the ass-covering comes in,” muttered Peggy. “They’ve identified the motorcyclist. Scott McCall’s a seventeen-year-old from a small city about one hundred miles east of the coast called Beacon Hills. He’s the son of an FBI agent, so they marked him off as clean, even though no one has apparently talked to the kid.” 

Steve made a face. “He might be clean, but why not check and make sure?” 

“I can think of two possible reasons. First, they think so little of our information that they don’t want to embarrass one of their fellow agents by interrogating his son. Or second, they’re concerned that he is involved, and don’t want to embarrass the bureau.”

Steve shook his head. “Well, we’re here and we can fix it. How do you want to play this? I’m thinking we have to split up. The submarine could be arriving any day now; it could already be here. I go to Sanderling Roost and you check out the lead in Beacon Hills.” 

Peggy gives him a mock disappointed glare. “I am not particularly fond of children – adolescents least of all.” 

“I'm being selfish, Major. If the Skull is here, I want first crack at him.”

Peggy sighed over-dramatically. “This means you'll definitely owe me a good meal at a fancy restaurant of my choice.”

 

MARCH 18, 1944

It was not yet spring, but the day was warm enough that Stiles had forgone getting a ride with Jackson or hanging off the back of Scott’s motorcycle. No one was trying to kill them and hadn’t been for months. He could enjoy the day. 

As he walked down the street, he saw Mrs. Fancone and Mrs. Thompson walking opposite him. He waved to them bright and cheerily, knowing that they would just pretend they didn't see him and pick up the pace. It never failed. He scared the old ladies; they never knew when he was going to snap. He told himself that he wouldn't let it bother him.

Of all his friends, he had the least reputation to worry about. Everyone knew that his mother had gone crazy and died, and that he was prone to rambling and unfocused behavior. They assumed that it was only a matter of time before he, too, was shut up in the nuthouse. The doctors had assured him that he had no sign of his mother’s illness – yet – and that he just had hyperkinetic disorder. The Benzedrine helped him focus long enough to do most things. 

He did not mind it, really. Not anymore. People left him alone when he did not want to be bothered. When Scott had been his only friend, he could sometimes get overwhelmed by the isolation, but now that he was part of the pack, he had more friends. That was why he could honestly, and not sarcastically, wave at the old biddies that worried about him. The people who counted knew him for who he was.

He stopped by the mailbox on his way in. Just a few pieces today which were mostly bills for his dad, but there is one thing that brings a smile to his face. It was a letter from Argentina!

He hurried inside and tore open the air mail after tossing the other mail to their spot on the end table:

**San Carlos De Bariloche  
** Argentina  
February 21, 1944 

**Stiles:**

**I am fine. Cora is fine. We are enjoying it here.**

**Peter fell down a well. I talked to the doctor about putting him to sleep, but Cora would not let me.**

**How are you? How is everyone?**

**Derek**

Stiles burst out laughing on the stairs up to his room. Derek’s sense of humor had improved since he had gone to South America. He rushed to get the jar he needed. The Hale family had allies and lands in Argentina, but with the war, things had gotten pretty tense between that country and the United States. The government considered Argentina’s neutrality an act in favor of Germany. Thus, Derek had had to employ an old trick of his family when writing a letter to the pack. They would use a special ink that would only become visible when it was coated with another herbal solution. Dr. Deaton had helped him make enough of both the ink and its solution to be able to read Derek’s letters and write some of his own without fear of any secrets being discovered by the government.

After carefully applying the solution, he had to wait ten minutes. This was not Stiles’ strong point, so he picked up a few books to read while it was going on, but what he actually did was stare at the words blankly in the book for ten agonizing minutes.

**Please show this letter to everyone. What I said in the cover letter is true; we are fine. However, we miss all of you and we miss our home. The house here is large and airy and we do not lack for anything, but it isn’t Beacon Hills. Cora and I (and even Peter) look forward to the day we can go back . . .**

Stiles read over the reports of Cora learning to ride a horse; it was actually harder for werewolves to learn to do that than for humans. Derek had taken it upon himself to expand the house in the Alto Valle region of the Rio Negro River Valley. Derek reported with some amusement that Peter was bored and frustrated with the situation; that made Stiles smile. Finally, he got to the end.

**Before I close, there is a serious matter that Jackson, Scott, Isaac, Aiden, and Ethan need to discuss. As we told you before we left, the draft and the war present particular dangers to werewolves. Our family learned the hard way that werewolves cannot operate in standard military units. The stresses on even the smallest battlefields of the past lead to uncontrolled shifting, and military commanders do not care what phase of the moon shines when it comes to discipline. I know that some of you would want to do your patriotic duty, but it is just too dangerous for you, for your fellow soldiers, and for werewolves in general.**

**Peter is of the opinion that if Dr. Deaton can make a mild wolfsbane solution (the formula is on the next page) with which Scott could temporarily get his asthma to return, qualifying him as 4-F. But, as a family, we also sat down and talked about what else we could do. We are wealthy, and we do not really have many uses for that money. If anyone would like to travel to Argentina before they become eligible for the draft, we’d be more than happy to welcome them to our home (even the twins -- and even Stiles, if you want to come). This is not just for you and not just for us, but for our species. Please consider it.**

**Remember you are in our thoughts, as we hope we are in yours.**

Stiles was always amazed at how eloquent Derek was when writing letters as opposed to the terseness he expressed in person. He had taken to writing him back letters that were just as long. He was sure that was the reason that Derek chose to write him rather than someone else. In the cover letter, he talked about all the normal things that someone would write to a friend living abroad: school, the war, his father, and all the relationships that would seem totally normal. He saved the important stuff for the secret half of the letter.

**Derek:**

**You know that you are going to totally destroy your reputation as a moody and conflicted monster if you keep making such generous offers and writing such pleasant letters. You actually offered to pay my way to visit you in Argentina. Are you aware you did that? Have you been poisoned?**

**The last time we talked you asked me to keep you abreast of how everyone is doing. I am sure that it is because you value my discerning eye and understand how intimate my relationships are with the pack, and not because that you know I’m an incorrigible busybody who has keep tabs on the people who tolerate my presence.**

**Jackson is still Jackson only there are two of them. (Given his history, you can see how this might be a bit disturbing.) The one I call the Old Jackson is still an arrogant ass – everything is still a competition with him and one he is already winning. I call it the Old Jackson but it really isn’t – it looks like what he used to be and acts like what he used to be, but there is no fire. I would call it a mask, but if it is, it is a very deep mask. The New Jackson is just as competitive but he competes for us rather than with us. If we have to move quickly, he has to move the quickest. If someone is nice to Lydia, he has to be nicer to Lydia. Only the pack sees the New Jackson, and while it is much better than the Old Jackson, it can still be very, very annoying.**

**Lydia, because she is Lydia, likes both the Old Jackson and the New Jackson. They make good accessories. Do I sound jealous? I am not (or maybe I am a little bit). If I make it sound that Lydia is only defined by what Jackson does, than I am doing a very poor job or reporting. If anything, it is the other way around. Lydia has adapted her life in the way she had to when she wants to and changed the world when changing herself again is just not tolerable. The only things right now that she finds frustrating is the war and mastering her powers. Everything else is trivial. It is easy for me to see why everyone else too falls in love with her a little bit.**

**This next one is going to be difficult, because I have to admit that I was wrong and you and Scott were right and you know how much I hate doing that. If we weren’t going to punish the twins for Boyd and Erica, then keeping them around was the best thing to do, because they follow. They want to follow. It is not obvious unless you are around them for some time, but they will adapt, eventually, to however their leader acts. I know only what little bit they have told us of their lives, but the way have grown up must have made them like this. Keeping them here is wise – if they are going to live, I want them to follow Scott.**

**Isaac is doing very well. You should be very happy because that is all your fault. No matter how much guilt you felt for what happened to your pack, you have to know that what you did for him was a good thing. He has the strength now to ask for what he wants, and what he wants is to be wanted. He wants to be Scott’s beta and he is. He wants to be Allison’s boyfriend and he is. I worry about him if things change.**

**Allison and her father are doing well, though I suspect that she is still training. She gets more confident (and beautiful) every day. I thought that their training would distance her from the pack, but it hasn’t. She understands them objectively (something I admit I have trouble doing) and that actually helps. If the guys have to leave for war reasons, I am sure that she and Chris could hold the place down with Lydia’s and Malia’s help. Or even without it. If I am concerned about anything it is about how aggressive she can be; even she has recognized it. She has stopped being haunted by Kate, but she still worries that she could become her.**

**Scott is the one I am the most worried about. On the surface, nothing seems wrong; no one has any complaints. The truth is, though, that he is not happy, but more than that, he does not seem to see the problem with not being happy. It is not just him not being with Allison, as I think he finally understands what happened there. He does not react as if he deserves anything. For example, he overheard Lydia’s parents call him a wretched name, and he just took it. He did not even get angry, so I had to get angry for him. I yelled at him for being a martyr. I am not sure if this is an alpha thing or a result of the sacrifice, but I am concerned. Could you offer me some insight?**

**As for me, I am dating Malia, who I told you about. She does not seem to mind dating someone who is stark-raving buggo. (Do not worry; I shall toss myself into the nearest wall after I finish writing this, so stop thinking it.) The dreams have died down to a manageable level; they will not have to put me into an asylum at this rate. What I find most disturbing is that I have come to miss, to some degree, when things were trying to kill us. I felt useful then; I did not feel like Scott’s crazy friend. I do not think this makes me a bad person; I do think it makes me a little weirder.**

**Derek, enjoy your vacation in Argentina with Cora and the zombie. I am glad you are all safe there.**

**Stiles**

**P.S. We miss you though.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I am fascinated by how the series would have to change to be placed in this time period. Stiles mother's illness would impair Stiles socially, especially with his ADHD. At the time, the term 'hyperkinetic disorder' was recently become popular, as before it was referred to in such glowing terms as 'an abnormal defect of moral control in children.' I do not see how Stiles could avoid that stigma.
> 
> I hope I am getting the sense of camaraderie and mutual respect between Steve and Peggy. I always love how they were friends and colleagues first.
> 
> I would also like feedback on the Stiles's letter to Derek. Is it too long? I wanted to give an insight into Stiles' role in the pack in this setting as well as the various character's states before the plot shifted into high gear. Does it work? (I am a little worried that it doesn't work.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy Carter arrives in Beacon Hills, spies on the gang, and meets with Sheriff Stilinski. Jackson reveals a decision he has made about the war. Elsewhere, the Red Skull comes face to face with Katarina Woltzmann Barker.

MARCH 19, 1944

Peggy had risen before dawn; military regimen had a way of sticking with you, even if you weren’t on the battlefield. She had arrived in Beacon Hills long after nightfall the previous day, so there had been nothing to do but get a room at a hotel and get some rest. 

Now, in her service dress uniform, she had taken a seat at the counter in the diner nearest the high school. One of the things she had learned during her espionage training was that the best way to get the lay of the land wasn’t to go through the official channels, but to talk to the pink-collar workers in the area. Some of them loved to talk, and they would not necessarily have the same agendas that local officials would have. She’d stop by the sheriff’s office later if she needed to do so.

“Here you go, honey,” said the waitress, a middle-aged woman with too much hairspray but a cheery smile. “Soft-boiled egg, toast and tea. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take a wild guess and say you’re English.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Oh, don’t ma’am me, Honey. The name’s Darla.” The waitress laughs. “You’re a long way from home, and I hope we help you feel comfy while you're here. Are you going to work at Oak Creek?” 

“Thank you, Darla. Call me Peggy. No, I’m doing other things for the Army. I didn't even know there was a base in Beacon Hills. What’s it like?”

“It's one of those camps for Japs living in America. It's just north of town. They tell us there’s no danger; the people there haven’t done anything wrong, but they need to be secured for safety reasons.” 

Peggy shook her head. “No, I don’t have anything to do with that.” She looked over her shoulder. “I saw the high school; it looks like a new building.”

“Yeah, it is a beautiful new building. Spent a lot of money on it, and to have all those bad things happen at it, what a shame ...” Darla tsked. The door opened and a pair of teenagers entered, but what was most interesting to Peggy was that Darla paled at their appearance and brusquely switched topics. “Honey, I hope that all of your family at home is safe.”

“Why, thank you,” said Peggy, offering the waitress a smile. As she sipped her tea, she noted that the couple was heading toward a table near her. The young man was muscular with light brown hair and slate blue eyes wearing a sweater that Peggy knew meant he was an athlete; he followed a very beautiful red-haired girl in an egg-shell blue dress and a jade box jacket into the diner.

“We’re here, Jackson, because Mother has already used up this month’s coffee ration. I'm not going to sleep through my classes today, no matter how boring they are. You can eat, can’t you?”

The boy nodded. “Sure.” They slid together into the same side of the booth, implying a romantic relationship. “I can eat again.” 

Peggy couldn't do much else until she finished her breakfast, so she watched the couple in the mirror that hung behind the counter. Darla’s awkward silence when the pair entered had piqued her interest. She opened a local paper in front of her while eavesdropping. Most conversations in restaurants and diners were secure, as people subconsciously respected other people’s privacy, but it also made it easy to overhear when there weren’t many people present, as people didn’t naturally moderate their voices.

Once the girl had got their coffee and the boy, Jackson, had gotten a plate of eggs, they talked about classes and dances – standard adolescent fare – but it was not long before the discussion became interesting.

“You coming out with us on Sunday, Lydia?” The boy named Jackson asked.

“Don’t I always? Allison and Stiles love to gossip with me while you boys and Malia do your thing.” The girl answered slyly. “I want to talk to them about a beach trip this summer. After school’s out, anyway.” 

Jackson grunted and pushed a fork through the remainder of his eggs so hard that Peggy could hear the tines scrape against the plate. Lydia noticed it. “Is there a problem? Those eggs haven’t done anything to you.”

“What would you say if I told you I was thinking of taking Derek up on his offer?” Jackson said slowly. His voice was almost too low for Peggy to eavesdrop.

This quieted the girl, who put down her coffee cup. After a minute she tossed her head to one side. “I wouldn’t say that I'm totally surprised. It makes a certain amount of sense, after all. Have you talked about it with Scott?” 

“Why do I have to ask McCall about it?” The boy snapped back, only to get a serious glare from the girl. “Yeah, yeah. I will. But …” Suddenly the boy turned to look at Peggy, as if something had drawn his attention. Jackson was still looking at her when he continued talking to his booth mate. “I was more worried about you.”

Lydia responded with nonchalance. “You think I'd not understand why you’d want to do that? I do understand.” 

Jackson was still staring at Peggy’s back. “Done with your coffee, Lydia? We should go.” His voice was suddenly heavy with suspicion. Peggy wasn’t quite sure what she had done to arouse it. 

As the couple put money on the table and left, Peggy got Darla’s attention. “What a pair of swell-looking kids. Who were they?” 

“Oh, that’s Jackson Whittemore and Lydia Martin. Jackson’s the co-captain of the basketball team and Lydia is the girl that every other girl wants to be. The Whittemores and the Martins are kind of big deals in town.” Darla warmed to the topic. “I mean even after the weirdness, they’re the school’s sweethearts.” 

“Weirdness?” asked Peggy innocently or as innocently as she could manage. 

“In one of the games last spring, Jackson had an attack of some illness. He was dead right on the court!” Darla shared eagerly. “Somehow they managed to revive him, but it was very frightening. And Miss Martin had a nervous breakdown and ran around naked in the woods for two days! It was all the scandal.” 

“Oh, my,” said Peggy. “That is weird.” She looked after them. “And they mentioned something about Scott McCall?”

“He’s the other captain of the team. He comes in some times with them. You wouldn’t expect them to be friends, but they form a tight little clique.” 

“Why wouldn’t they be friends?” Peggy asked. 

“McCall’s a nice kid, but he’s from the wrong side of the tracks, and the Whittemores and the Martins are from the top of the hill, if you know what I mean.” The waitress confided. “The kids seem not to care.” 

“They usually don’t,” said Peggy. She paid her bill, left a generous tip, and resolved to drive by the McCall house and the high school before she went to the Sheriff’s Station.

###### 

“Okay, what’s the rush?” asked Lydia. “We’ve got a half-hour before we should even be worried about getting to school.” She slid into the seat of Jackson’s 1941 Lincoln Continental Convertible. No matter what happened, he loved that car.

“When I mentioned Scott’s last name, the lady in the military uniform’s heart rate jumped,” Jackson explained as he got the car underway. “And when I focused on her, I could smell gunpowder. She’s carrying a gun.”

“You think she might be a hunter? In the army?”

“I didn’t smell any wolfsbane or anything like that, and the only type of weapon she could be carrying would be a pistol.” He answered. “I just didn’t want to take any chance. Things have been quiet. I like quiet.”

Lydia put a hand on Jackson’s arm. “So do I.” She bit her lip. “About the other thing – about Argentina. You were worried about my reaction?”

“Yeah.” He clenched his jaw. “If I go, I could be gone for years. I mean, a lot of guys have to leave their girls to go to the army, but I don’t want you to think I wouldn’t care about leaving you.” He took a deep breath and pulled into the high school parking lot. “Look, Lydia, you read the letter, too. Derek knows what he’s talking about. Maybe, maybe if I got a state-side job, I could swing being in the army, but there is no guarantee about that, is there? I could put people in danger.” He looked down at the steering wheel. “And, I don’t think I could survive it if I were sent overseas.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think I could kill for someone else, and they shoot deserters. I mean, that’s what I’d be doing right, killing other people on someone’s orders? I know it isn’t the same, but it feels the same. “ He sighed. “I don’t think I can put ‘used to be a murder-lizard’ on my application to be a conscientious objector, can I?”

Lydia smiled at him and kissed his cheek. “I understand. Why wouldn’t you ask me to go with you?”

Jackson looked surprised and also weary. “Why do I think that this question is a trap?”

Lydia gave him a friendly punch in the shoulder.

“You have plans, Lydia. I don’t think I have the right to ask you to sacrifice those plans for me.” He admitted. 

“Maybe I want to sacrifice them for you?” She shot back and then shook her head. “No, I don’t. That doesn’t mean that you aren’t important to me.” 

“Never said that.” He got out of the car. “And, yeah, I’ll talk to Scott, my alpha.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head in mock disbelief at having to say that. “I have to tell him about the possible hunter anyway.”

###### 

Peggy was seriously glad that she had stopped by the high school as she observed the students’ arrival with binoculars. There was a wooded hill overlooking the school, and she could see perfectly. It had not been hard to spot McCall’s arrival on the motorcycle that the FBI had described in their report.

The boy looked normal enough at first, but Peggy noticed that the rest of the student body, save for a select few, kept a respectful distance. It didn't look from her point of view that it was from a conscious fear but more like a subliminal avoidance. 

She had driven by the boy's house. It was an older two-story house in a part of town that had seen better days, but it showed evidence that someone took care of it. So far, she had found nothing that would lead her to believe that the courier had anything to do with Hydra or the Red Skull. 

But it was the only lead, and so she had to follow it up. She trusted the intelligence. The _Jormungandr_ was coming here (or it already was here) and Schmidt was on it. She had to find out why, so when school was fully underway she went to the police station.

Still, her diligence had paid off when she sat down in front of Sheriff Stilinski’s desk. Unlike Rickett’s office, this one was full of touches revealed the sheriff as a family man, as a member of the community, and as a person. She much preferred this type of bureaucrat. What she appreciated even more was the picture of two boys on the shelf behind the desk. One of them bore a resemblance to the sheriff, but the other boy was Scott McCall. That changed the whole dynamic of the interview.

The Sheriff shook her hand. “Hello, Major Carter. What can the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s department do for you?” He smiled and gestured for her to have a seat. 

“Well, as you know, there is a military internment camp set up just a little north of your city – Oak Creek?” She thanked Darla silently for mentioning it.

“I'm aware of it, major. I cannot say that I'm a fan. Several of the people in the camp are good people from this city.” The sheriff’s friendly demeanor cooled a bit. “But the law is the law.”

“Members of the military command in charge of the camps have heard of recent strange events taking place in the city, and they wanted me to check into them.” She smiled apologetically as if it is no big deal. “It is not an urgent priority, but it has to be done.”

The sheriff’s business face did not alter greatly, but there is a subtle change in his disposition. Peggy noted that he had moved to defense, but she could not tell why.

“Which events were you referring to, major? I can assure you that my department has done everything necessary to pursue those cases in order to extract justice.”

Peggy noted that convoluted phrasing. There was something going on there. “Look, sheriff, the last thing I want is to come into your jurisdiction and start off by offending you. We aren’t doing this because we doubt you or your officers. We're doing this because there is a war on, and we have to be very alert for Axis saboteurs and spies. If you'll simply go over your violent crime case files with me for the last eighteen months, I can take the notes I need and get out of your hair.” 

The sheriff looked conflicted, but he did not try to stop her. In fact, he offered to volunteer to help. This suited Peggy just fine, even if the sheriff was trying to cover something up. 

They spend the afternoon going over the case files. The more Peggy read, the more she understood that something important had happened here. There were three different spree killings over a period of eight months, most of them written down as ‘animal attacks’ though the statistical probability of there being that many animal attacks in a place this civilized was infinitesimally small. 

“Sheriff,” she began carefully, “please don’t take this the wrong way, but you have had a hell of a year. Why didn’t you ask for help?”

“We had some help from the FBI,” admitted the sheriff, glumly. “Or what they like to call help. Things have quieted down now.”

“I understand. I couldn’t help but notice, and I hope you don’t think I am prying, that your son shows up on the witness list an awful lot, along with his friend.”

The sheriff paused across the table. His explanation sounded prepared. “My son has an active curiosity and due to being my son has greater access to police resources than other children. Given this, he tends to get involved in things that he shouldn’t, but I have never doubted that he is a good kid. His friend Scott is a very good kid, but he does sometimes get in more trouble than you would think for someone his age.”

Peggy replied with all the charm she could muster. “I’d love to meet them if I have time, sheriff. They sound like wonderful boys.” 

The sheriff shot back his own charming grin. “Well, why don’t you? I can have Stiles set a place for you and Scott. It shouldn’t be a problem at all.” 

Peggy couldn’t tell if it was a calculated move or if he was flirting with her. Either way, it was too good an opportunity to pass up.

###### 

Johann Schmidt did not like to surround himself with inferiors that he could not command. He believed he had evolved beyond the need to be polite in the face of buffoonery. He also knew he had long ago discarded the capability of being impressed by decadence and flattery. Finally, he knew that if he had to spend another ten minutes in the company of Hiram Baker III, he was going to twist the American’s head off his neck. At this time, he could not believe that he had traveled across the globe to sit in this ridiculous dining room eating ridiculous food and listening to this gibbering idiot.

Barker was going on and on about the possibilities that his family’s alliance with Hydra would create for both sides, sounding like nothing else but the overfed spineless bureaucrats that fed at the Fuhrer’s governmental table. Schmidt’s last dinner with people like that had been in 1941, where he had snapped a suit-clad whining pustule’s forearm for daring to touch him. 

“Hiram,” broke in the old woman sitting to the right of his host. “I am sure Herr Schmidt is very tired from his journey through the oceans. Perhaps it might be better if you go and make sure the arrangements are ready to show him our prize.”

“Of course you are right, Mother,” burbled the seed magnate. “I will go and make sure everything is prepared. Will you bring him when he is ready?”

The old woman nodded. Schmidt had kept one eye on her throughout the dinner, after he had realized that she was watching him. Not with fear or respect, but blatant interest, as if she could not wait to cut him open and see how he worked. That type of naked ambition, Schmidt thought, could be useful.

“You will have to forgive me for subjecting you to that, Herr Schmidt,” said the woman coldly. “My son often confuses enthusiasm for competence. It's a habit of which I have not yet been able to break him.”

“There is no need for you to apologize, Dr. Barker,” he replied. “Eventually, a man must be responsible for his own behavior.”

The woman waved her hand dismissively, as if bored by the talk of her only son. “I'm sure you have more important things concerning you than child rearing. You have to have questions; why don’t you ask them?”

“I have read the information that you sent to Hydra; I am curious as to why you would just give us something as potent as the Wolf’s Crown. It occurs to me that you do not really need Hydra to utilize what resource you already have, nor do I think you have any loyalty to the land of your birth.”

Katarina Woltzmann Barker did not even frown at the accusation. The topic of loyalty was no more interesting to her than the topic of her son. “I am equally disinterested in the futures of Germany and the United States. Why I arranged for my son to send an overture to Hydra is because I sense an opportunity to pursue what I _am_ interested in.”

“And that would be, doctor?” 

“Knowledge.” She replied with total conviction. “In the world Hydra would create, my work would no longer be hampered by small minds, fearful of invented morals or terrified of the unknown. I would be able to explore reality to its fullest.” 

“And you wish to purchase a place in this new world by offering me a means to make it so.”

“That is exactly what I wish to do. I learned of Hydra and your goals long before I discovered the opportunity to empower the Wolf’s Crown. While I have no desire to use it for my own ends, I knew that the crown could serve Hydra well. Thus, I sent messages through secret channels to you.”

The Red Skull appreciated her candor and her ruthless approach to what she wanted. This he could use. “Tell me what the Wolf’s Crown could do for Hydra.”

“You have already read the briefs I wrote, so I will not go into tedious detail. My ancestor was an adviser to a werewolf pack in the Black Forest, a location known for its population of these supernatural denizens. He created the crown in order to capitalize on the emergence of a True Alpha. Such creatures are rare, and each of them is unique in their origins. The one from many centuries ago was renowned for his self-control; never once did he lose himself to the moon or the instincts of the beast. Always he was his own master.” The woman continued on with some relish. “The idea behind the crown was to share this self-control with members of his pack, sharing with them the strength that comes from such force of will.” 

“I read that, but I am sure you have insight that a report lacks.”

“What amuses me, but reinforces the dictates of science, is that the Crown was a monumental failure in its original purpose. It didn't share the alpha’s phenomenal self-control with his pack; too late they learned that self-control cannot be imposed. Control, however, _can_ be imposed. While wearing the Crown, the alpha had absolute control over every member of his pack. In addition, it allowed the True Alpha to extend the pack bond to any werewolf he met.” The old woman spoke with eagerness. “It's ultimate effect was greater than the initial goal. Thus do we learn from failure.”

“You're saying that this crown would allow one of these creatures to control any other werewolf. I saw your reports; that would give Hydra a formidable military force.”

“If you can bend the True Alpha wearing the Crown to your will, you will have such. Only the pure force of a True Alpha can make the crown work – other alphas would be driven mad by it, as it would also amplify the psychic imprint of the previous alphas from which they took their power. I would love to study such an event.” The woman became excited as she talked of applying science to the supernatural. “We are lucky that a True Alpha arose here and that he was brought to my attention; as I said, they appear approximately once every century. As I do not desire my own army of werewolves, but I do desire what Hydra can do for my own research, I offer this possibility to you.” 

“Which is why I had to come,” said The Red Skull. “Hydra with werewolf shock troops would become unbeatable.”

“The question remains, though, Herr Schmidt, if you can bend this alpha to Hydra’s will,” the woman cautioned. “According to my agents, he is not like the one for which the crown was made. That alpha’s virtue was iron self-discipline. This one’s is compassion; a softer emotion.”

“Compassion is a weak emotion,” Schmidt chuckled, “but it can be manipulated, given the right levers. I will need access to all of your intelligence.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just felt that Jackson would never feel comfortable taking orders to kill someone, ever again, no matter who was giving the orders. He might be willing to kill someone, but it would have to be his decision.
> 
> I see this as his car: http://www.conceptcarz.com/images/Lincoln/41_Lincoln-Contntl-Cabrio-DV-12-AI_01.jpg
> 
> The scene with the Red Skull might be a little talky, but I wanted to give the reader an idea of the stakes. Also, unless I am being too subtle, I am implying that Dr. Barker will become the Geneticist eventually. The idea for this character came to me after I learned that this particular Dread Doctor was a woman.
> 
> Please, offer all the criticism you desire!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because it is not Teen Wolf without an awkward family dinner, Peggy Carter joins the Stilinksi's for a meal. Stiles gets a clue about what might be going on.

MARCH 19, 1944 (Continued) 

Spring would not officially come for another two days, but already the forests of Northern California were filled with flowers and birds. Steve promised himself he’d come back here after the war was over. Who knew what the future held, but he felt he might be tempted to build a home here.

“Major Carter, this is Captain Rogers. Come in.” The shortwave radio crackled in the jeep. Steve glanced toward the road. He was sure that it would take some sharp eyes to see where he had parked from a passing car. “Major Carter, this is Captain Rogers. Come in please.”

“This is Major Carter. I copy. This is our daily check in. Word is ‘calliope.’ Answer? Over.”

“Roger that, major. Word is ‘potash.’ Who makes up these things? Over.” It was a running joke between them. He knew the clear words had to be easy to remember yet difficult enough for enemy spies not to guess them.

Peggy obviously decided to ignore the joke. “Steve, there is definitely something going on here. I don’t think I’m close to figuring out what it is, but I have several promising leads. How about you? Over.”

“The estate is designed for privacy, not defense. I’ve gone over the outside as much as I can. I’m thinking I should try to infiltrate tonight. Over.”

Steve waited, listening to the hiss and crackle of the radio. He knew that Peggy was giving careful thought to his request. He wouldn’t be upset if she didn't want him to; she had training in espionage, and he didn’t. 

“Negative, Steve. Give me a day. Over.”

“All the time you need, major. Over.”

###### 

“Can I help?” Scott leaned against the kitchen counter as Stiles put dinner together. The turkey goulash wasn’t going to win any awards - especially since it was a recipe that Stiles had invented himself - but Stiles had had to cook for his father for so long that he had become pretty good at the basics.

“Nope. It’s almost all done, and not to put too fine a point on it, you’re really bad at cooking. Shall I list the things we’ve burnt in your mom’s stove?” Stiles didn’t even turn to look at him as he stirred one of the pots. “I wonder who Dad is bringing home. You’ve got your homework done?”

“Yes, Mom,” Scott answered snottily. “I don’t know; did he say anything? Maybe it’s someone new. Dr. Deaton said that people would be drawn here. Maybe he wants me to - I don’t know - interrogate them?”

“Or sniff their butts?” Stiles laughed at him. “Seriously, aren’t you a little worried about the woman that Jackson and Lydia ran into at the diner this morning? She could be a hunter.”

“All we know that she’s in the military, she carries a gun, and she recognized my name. I don’t know, maybe she’s a friend of my mom’s? Or my dad’s?” He suggested without heat. “I don't want to live like everyone who I don't know is dangerous.”

“Then I will leap to the conclusion for you! She’s not really in the military, she’s just using the uniform to get close to the pack and then she can shoot you full of wolfsbane!” Stiles lectured, but Scott could tell that it was only half-serious. “If you do knock her down and interrogate her and she turns out to be harmless, you can always blame it on your friend who’s the paranoid lunatic.”

Scott actually growled at him, which was such a rare event that Stiles put down the spoon. “It was a joke, Scotty.”

“You keep telling the same jokes, and they aren’t funny. You keep calling yourself that, and you aren’t crazy.” 

“Everyone in the town thinks I’m just like my mom and frankly, after the sacrifice, I feel kinda crazy, though I am glad I get to sleep more now.” His voice’s tone tries to keep it light. “So, why beat around the bush?”

“Because you aren’t.” Scott said it like it was an order. 

“Uhm, doctors might disagree with you there, but I won’t … I’ll try not to make jokes about it again.” Stiles turned off the stove. “Everything’s ready.” 

“I can hear your dad’s car coming.” Scott offered quietly. “Let me carry that stuff.” 

Stiles turned around to point out what he could carry and frowned at the look on Scott’s face. “Okay. If you are going to be all alpha-y on me, you’ve got to stop doing that.”

“Stop doing what?”

“Stop wearing the ‘it’s-all-my-fault’ face.’ I hate that face. It’s stupid. Not everything is your fault, Scott. If anything, it’s all our fault. If you want me to pretend to be sane, you have to pretend you don’t want to be a martyr.”

“You are sane, and I don’t want to be a martyr.” Scott obviously did not want to talk about it anymore and took the dishes into the dining room. 

“See! Pretending!” Stiles called from the kitchen. 

Scott gave Stiles a smile as he came into the room. “All right, you win. The dinner actually smells pretty great, Stiles. This shouldn’t be a problem at all.”

But when Stiles’ dad lead Major Peggy Carter into the house for dinner, Scott and Stiles looked at each other like the damn had just burst. Later on, Stiles would joke that Scott should write a book: _Awkward Family Dinners I Have Been To._

###### 

Of all the interrogations she had conducted, Peggy could honestly say that this one might have been not only the most pleasant but also the strangest. She sat in the home of a local American sheriff whose city was a possible contender for Murder Capital of the West Coast, eating a home-cooked meal with that sheriff, his teenage son, and his teenage son’s best friend, who may or may not be a Hydra courier. The house was comfortable, though not as tidy as it could have been. It could stand dusting a little more. Her mother would have said that it needed a woman’s touch. 

At first, she concentrated on the sheriff, measuring his mood and deciphering his intent. It would have been strange if she had immediately focused on the McCall boy, especially since she had worked so hard to present herself as a harried bureaucrat checking off boxes on a form. The sheriff behaved as a gentleman, playing up the merits of their little city and the city’s children in particular. He was being charming in the way that acknowledged that he was talking with an attractive woman but carefully remaining within the boundaries of taste. The only flaw in his performance, to her eye as a trained agent, was his attempt to over-sell how normal his son and his friend were. 

She felt he was deceiving her partially because his son, Stiles, was anything but normal, though that was not necessarily an insult. On the positive side, the boy was bright, inquisitive, and unafraid. On the negative side, throughout the meal, he was terribly unfocused, talking rapidly and breathing rapidly, and she noted that he had dilated pupils. The physical indicators suggested that he may be on amphetamines. 

The boy was nicknamed Stiles because his given name was too hard to pronounce for most people. She had spent three months in Poland and could probably take a decent shot at it, but she suspected it was just easier for him to use the nickname among his peers. He was currently rattled on about the recently concluded hunger strike by the Indian spiritual leader, Gandhi. “Twenty-one days without any food, can you imagine that? I can only barely imagine it because even on bad days when I don’t want to each anything, eventually I have to eat something! You’d eventually get hungry enough to eat your own shoe. The self-discipline required to do it would be enormous, and it would be even worse when you stop, because you can’t just start eating normally, you have to eat a little bit even though you have to be so hungry. Gandhi’s wife game a little glass of juice. Here, husband, you look like you’re going to blow away in a stiff wind, but have this glass of apple juice!”

“Stiles,” admonished the sheriff with the practiced tone indicating he had to do this often.

Peggy was charmed. “It’s no trouble at all, Sheriff Stilinski. I find what Gandhi is doing to be very interesting, even though, of course, I don’t agree with it.” She offered the boy an encouraging smile.

“Sorry. I may have taken Benzedrine before dinner.” Stiles reddened, ashamed, because he realized he had indeed been talking a lot. “I have a condition, but I wanted to make a good impression. Sorry about that, I know I can get a little c …”

Stiles jerked as if he had been kicked under the table. The two boys locked gazes from across the table. His friend was giving him a mild glare. 

“I can get a little distracted. I’ll try not to monopolize the conversation.” Stiles finished lamely. 

“Oh, I don’t mind at all.” She really did not mind. While she was sure that he could become annoying, it was enjoyable to be around someone who was so fearless when it came to other people. She turned the conversation to Scott. “And what do you think of the situation in India?”

Scott looked shocked like he was surprised he would be asked about something like this. “Uhm. I haven’t given it much thought.” He shrugged, looked at Stiles and then turned back to her. “I guess if you were going to rebel, that would be the best way to do it

Peggy moved on to the crux of the conversation. “Scott, I saw you have a motorcycle. That’s really nice. Did you save up money to buy one?”

“Yes and no.” Scott was a lot more interested in talking about his motorcycle than the Indian revolution. “Stiles and I found it in the junkyard, and we fixed it back up, buying just the parts we needed. It’s great.”

“Works like a dream,” Stiles added. “Scott drives it like two hundred miles every weekend!” 

Peggy did her best surprise face. “Oh? I’m surprised your mother lets you drive so far.”

The sheriff put in from his vantage point at the head of the table, reinforcing the normal thing image he was pushing. “Oh, it worries Melissa a lot, but she won’t say anything.”

Scott looked at the sheriff and does his best guilty look. “I know, but I can’t pass up forty dollars a week. Mr. Harris, our chemistry teacher, is working on this formula with this doctor who lives north of Mendocino. He doesn’t want to wait for delivery men. It’s perfectly safe.”

Peggy whistled at the amount of money, but inwardly, she was calculating how this changed the situation. They seem like nice kids, and it was obvious that this Harris was using them. “You are going this weekend?”

Scott nodded affirmatively. “Yeah. I’m going to be on the road at dawn. It’s a long day, but I’m not sure how long Mr. Harris is going to need me to do this.” 

Peggy felt relief. She now had another lead to follow. While she was completely convinced that the sheriff and these boys were hiding something, she was actually quite glad that they seemed ignorant of whatever Hydra was up to in California. She knew she could probably pull the truth out of them eventually, but time was always a consideration. The Red Skull wasn’t going to wait until she got a small-town family to spill its secrets. 

She had one more question to ask as the sheriff walked her out. The boys were cleaning the dinner table away and she got her purse from the foyer. She noticed that it had been moved, ever so slightly, but a quick check showed that everything was where it should be. Someone had looked in there, but they hadn’t stolen anything.

“Thank you for coming to my house for dinner, Major Carter. Will I be seeing you back at the station?” The sheriff was being very friendly. She obviously had made a good impression.

“It’s a possibility. I do have one question before I leave you tonight. Mr. McCall mentioned his chemistry teacher, Mr. Harris? Wasn’t he involved in two of the three spree killings in the last year?” 

The sheriff made a sour face. “You noticed. Adrian Harris has a habit of getting involved with the wrong people at the wrong time. You would expect more from someone who attended West Point. First case, if you remember, he unwittingly aided and abetted a murderess. Second case, he barely survived an attack. I never got a serious answer as to how he did that when everyone else died.”

“That is interesting, sheriff. I do so hate to bring up work after such a pleasant meal. I hope, for as long as I am here, we can work together.”

“You and me both, Major Carter. If you need anything, feel free to call me.”

*****

After the dishes were done and put away, Scott and Stiles were up in Stiles’ room, doing their homework. More precisely, Scott was doing his homework while Stiles was engaged in research. 

Stiles room had once been a titanic mess of books and paper, but over the last year, Stiles had made an effort to get the mess under control. Every square foot of wall space was covered with bookshelves that Scott and Stiles had either made themselves or purchased from a second hand furniture shop. His dresser and desk stood back to back to one side of the room. Three walls of bookshelves were filled with the books that Stiles had carefully gathered. Where most teens would have pulp literature or school books, Stile’s shelves were filled with almanacs, dictionaries (including many specialty dictionaries), encyclopedias, travel guides, mythologies, and older books that only a trained occultist would be able to recognize. The fourth wall had been reserved for scrap books. Stiles had an intense interest in trivia and stories of faraway places, so he read newspapers and magazines a lot. He would go through the public library’s and the school’s library’s trash to snag discarded periodicals, which didn't help his reputation but he found irresistible. When he found an article or story he thought was interesting or useful, he’d cut it out and paste it in one of his scrapbooks. When the whole werewolf thing had started, he had made specific scrapbooks for supernatural occurrences. 

Other people might have thought it funny, but Scott was always slightly in awe of Stiles’ ability to find information. It took dedication and practice and a mind that was able to see connections. He had even done this with limited resources, so the whole pack had taken to giving Stiles things for his library.

Scott looked up from the book he was reading for English. It wasn’t due until next Thursday, but why wait? Saturday he would be gone most of the day; Sunday was the full moon. “What are you working on?”

“I am trying to look up Major Carter’s division,” he replied, pouring over a book on the U.S. army. 

“Her division? I don’t remember her talking about her division.”

“I know,” replied Stiles, “that’s why I went through her purse.”

“Stiles!” He was shocked, because you just don’t go through people’s purses, but Stiles always had a reason why he did things like this. “You still think she’s someone we should be concerned about?”

“People can still be threats even if they aren’t hunters,” Stiles observed from where he had a nose in the book. “She came here; she recognized your name; she’s armed; she has been looking through police cases in Beacon Hills. She could just be curious; she could be a threat. I’d rather know.”

Scott looked over at Stiles. He scratched his head. “How did you know that she was looking through the police cases? Did your Dad tell you?”

“Nope. I eavesdropped on them,” he answered. “I am sure my Dad will talk to me, once he puts his tongue back in his mouth.” 

“She was pretty,” Scott answered appreciatively.

“Simmer down, lover boy. She’s older than Derek.” Stiles put the book to the side. “I don’t know what the abbreviation SSR means. It’s not in this book on the Army, but the book is five years old. I think I recognize it from somewhere. So … scrapbook time.”

Scott stretched out on the bed. The book, David Copperfield, had lost his interest fifteen minutes ago. He absently traced a pattern on. “Stiles, what do you think about Derek’s offer?”

“The Hale Argentine Getaway Vacation for Draft-Dodging Werewolves?” Stiles remarked without looking back from the scrapbooks he was sorting through. “I think that, all joking aside, it’s a pretty good idea. I’ve looked through the books that Derek gave me, and I have read the stories. Things have gone pretty bad when the Hales have joined armies. Of course, things have gone pretty bad for the Hales period, but it doesn’t undermine the lesson, does it?”

“I mean, if Jackson, the twins, and Isaac go, it’ll be just me and Malia.” Scott rolled back and stared at the ceiling. “I’m wondering if you can even consider that a pack.”

“What?” There was an angry squawk. “Aren’t you forgetting people?”

“Hey, you, Allison and Lydia will be at school – that’s all I meant.” Scott protested. “You are all smart enough to go.”

“You are smart enough to go, and Malia could if she wanted to. I don’t think she wants to. We can barely get her to go to high school.”

“I can’t go, and you know that. I don’t have the money, and I’ve got responsibilities here. I can’t just leave.” He wasn’t being upset – there were just things that were just true. “I’m certainly not looking forward to drinking that potion so I can pretend I still have asthma.” 

“First, you aren’t going to Argentina?” Stiles put the scrapbook down. “I mean, you won’t really be losing your pack if you don’t go – it doesn’t work like that. But, I mean, you’ll feel the distance, according to every book I got from Derek. Malia is a coyote and they don’t feel the bonds the same way so she’ll be fine.”

“How will I feel?”

“Uhm.” Scott could tell that Stiles knew the answer, but he did not want to say. Scott gave him a ‘come-on’ look. “You should probably expect restlessness and irritability. You’ll want to be able to smell them and see them, but you won’t be able to. It’s probably not going to be pleasant. I’d recommend keeping something smelly from each of them, to be honest.”

Scott sighed. “I can’t go, especially if I have a way to stay. Someone has to look after this place. It’s my territory; it’s my responsibility. It won’t be so bad.”

“If we’re talking about responsibility, then Allison and I should stay too.” 

Scott sat up with that. “You can’t say that. I know why you are saying that, but you two have opportunities to be more. I don’t want you two to feel that you have to sacrifice anything else.”

Stiles muttered to himself as he flipped the pages in the scrapbook. He was avoiding this fight again. 

Scott didn’t say anything about it either, though he wanted to. He never liked giving orders, so he examined the bedspread again. “You thought about going to Argentina?”

“Of course not! You think I want to spend years in close proximity with the inimitable Hale trio when I don’t speak the language? I’d rather wrestle Himmler.” It was another joke. Scott was sure that Stiles had considered going. He always wanted to travel the world. “Even if I’m not declared 4-F, I’d never be sent to the front.”

Scott thought about making a joke of Stiles in a uniform, but he held back. It might be in bad taste. “Would you want to be a soldier, if you could?”

Stiles hummed at that. “If I felt I could help end the war? Sure. I don’t think most people want to be soldiers. I think they want to make sure the good guys win and the bad guys lose. I can understand that. I’d be doing it because the sooner the war ended, the sooner the people I care about wouldn’t have to worry about German invasions or Japanese bombs. It’s not that different than what we’ve been doing for the last eighteen months, Scott – protecting the people we love.”

Stiles looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t think I’d make a good infantry man. I don’t take orders well.” He turned and winked at Scott. “I’m opinionated and mouthy. I think I’d see the inside of a stockade rather than a battlefield. I think I could help with other stuff though, but I don’t know if anyone would trust me to do that.” 

“I trust you to do that. You shouldn’t sell yourself short.”

“You’ve had ten years to get used to the whole me.” Stiles laughed. “I don’t think the war would last that long.”

Scott smiled at him. “Well, I have to get up early tomorrow. Don’t stay up all night researching, okay?”

“Yeah, boss. Sure.” 

 

MARCH 20, 1943

Technically, Stiles hadn't lied. He had finally fell asleep on a scrapbook at 3:00 a.m., which wasn't all night. On the bright-side, he was so exhausted that he didn’t have any terrible rest-destroying dreams for once. He had a dream about penguins. Of course, they weren’t normal penguins, for why would you dream about normal penguins? They were man-sized penguins – friendly but they wanted fish and they wanted fish _now_. They were super-penguins.

Stiles sat up in bed, blinking in the half-light of the morning. He scrambled around the overfilled room to get to his scrapbook shelves. He knew the one he wanted, but he was still half-asleep and his pulse was racing like an unattended grocery cart rolling down a hill. He tore through the pages until he found the clipping from one of the conspiracy rags he occasionally read. 

“Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.” 

Jumping up, he hurled, slid and almost tumbled down the stairs to the telephone in the kitchen. It rang but it was Isaac who picked it up. “McCall House.”

“Oh, shit.” Stiles realized that it must be after eight. Scott would already be on the road. “Isaac, Isaac, I need you to get everybody. Get everybody together now.”

“It’s Saturday morning. What’s the rush?”

“SSR, Isaac! SSR!” He repeated urgently. “The Strategic Scientific Reserve.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Get the pack together. Get it together now!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, if you think I've done something OOC, criticism is totally welcome.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles rallies the pack to the threat that Major Carter might represent; Allison and Isaac perform some breaking and entering; Harris gets the upper hand at a confrontation at his house.

MARCH 20, 1943 (Continued) 

Stiles took a deep breath as he waited on the mutinous pack in front of him to quiet down. It was a quarter until nine in the morning on a Saturday, and his panicked calls had summoned them all to the living room of the McCall house.

Jackson and Lydia were looking the most disgruntled, as it was clear they had stayed up particularly late the night before. Jackson looked like he had recovered, so it could not have been too late, but Lydia was looking particularly glassy-eyed and listless, though you had to know what she looked like normally to see that. It was most likely that Lydia was the one who was angriest, and Jackson was acting crabby to support her. They sat on the couch with the weak coffees Isaac had made. 

Isaac sat on one of the chairs. He would probably have been up by now, so all he had to have done was brew the coffee and put some clothes on. Allison was right behind him, resting her hands on the top of the chair. She would already been up; Stiles knew that she ran ridiculous amounts of miles on the wrong side of dawn every day. That was another in a long list of reasons Stiles could never be a hunter.

The twins were leaning up against the living room wall. They did not look too happy, but Stiles suspected that this was less because the hour and more because the meeting was called without Scott there. Scott was the only reason they were pack, and they knew that few tolerated them otherwise.

Malia was sitting next to him on the floor; he had pulled a chair out from the kitchen. “All right.” Stiles took a deep breath. It was at this point at the pack meetings that Scott would call things to order and start pulling them together. Stiles would be chiming in with amusing and sarcastic remarks. He wished he could wait until Scott was back, but his instincts were telling him that it would be too late. He mentally repeated to himself: Be Scott. Be Scott. Be Scott.

“Uhm. I’m not the best at stuff like this,” he started, lamely. “I need you to hear me out. Jackson, you remember the woman you and Lydia ran into at the diner?” 

Jackson immediately straightened up in anticipation, as Stiles expected he would. Jackson loved being right. 

“Her name is Major Peggy Carter. She works in the SSR, the Strategic Scientific Reserve. She did not identify herself as such; I only knew it because I rooted through her purse while she was over to my house for dinner last night.”

This provoked different reactions, from Malia’s confusion over what the SSR meant, to exclamations from Isaac and Jackson about the major being over at his house, to Lydia’s and Allison’s disdain about Stiles going through a woman’s purse. 

Stiles bit his tongue. He wanted to argue with them, but he knew that would waste valuable time. “Please, please, you can scold me about that stuff later. The point is, I found out from my Dad that her story was that she was making sure that Oak Creek was secure in our city, going over old case files with him. But, given her division and what Jackson discovered, I think she’s here for something else. You’ve heard the rumors about the SSR, right?”

The entire pack looked at him blankly. 

“You‘ve heard of Project Rebirth, right? While no one officially is responsible for it, it’s said the Strategic Scientific Reserve was in charge of it.”

Malia piped up. “Should I know what that is?” 

“No,” Stiles answered kindly. “This happened while you were still in the woods.” He looked around the room at the others and no one seemed to have heard of it. He lost his composure. “Oh my God, do none of you pay attention? Captain America? Project Rebirth? Super soldiers?”

“You believe in that stuff?” asked Aiden. “Wasn’t it just an actor in a suit?”

“No. No!” Stiles shook his head violently. “They actually succeeded in the process, but then a Nazi spy killed the doctor who invented it, so there was just one super soldier. Don’t you get it?” 

“Is this like that guy who says the government new about Pearl Harbor before hand and let it happen?” asked Isaac. 

“No, no. Father Coughlin is an idiot.” Stiles flailed about the room. “You don’t believe this? Most of you guys are werewolves! You don’t see the connection?” Without waiting for them to answer, Stiles took a deep breath and said as loud as he could. “You’re nature’s super soldiers. She’s looking for you. For all of you!”

Lydia was now fully awake. “That’s an interesting hypothesis, Stiles, but how would they possibly know about Scott? I mean, many of you guys haven’t been subtle, but you’ve not done anything that the government would notice.”

“I know. I have no proof, other than the major’s connection to the SSR, but I think this is important enough to just look into it. Guys, please believe me. I’m not barking up the wrong tree. I would wait for Scott to get back, but she could leave today, and then we wouldn’t know one way or the other.”

Malia tugged on his pants leg. “I believe you. What do you want me to do?”

The others were skeptical but – and Stiles was thankful for this – none of them said that they did not believe him to his face. Lydia finally spoke up. “Well, I'm up now and I see enough in what you say to worry me. So, what do you want us to do?”

Stiles’ heart warmed but he tried to not let it show on his face. His body did relax. “Well, as I said, I’ve got the feeling we don’t have much time. Allison, you don't mind picking a lock?” 

Allison nodded. “Not a problem.”

“Can you take Isaac with you and go to her hotel room?” He gave them the name of the hotel and the room number, which he had gotten from the key in her purse. “See if she left any clues there. Jackson, Lydia and Ethan, if you can go to Oak Creek and see if she’s there and if she isn’t, can you find out if she’s actually stationed there? Malia, Aiden and I will follow my hunch: I think she’ll be paying a visit to Adrian Harris this morning. She was interested in him after talking to Dad.” He shrugged. “Now, we might find nothing, and then I'll have wasted your Saturday for nothing. We’ll meet at noon at the school, okay?” 

******

Isaac followed Allison down the hallway. He was focusing his hearing around them so they wouldn’t run into this woman by mistake, though he had no idea what she looked like. “What do you think about this?”

“I think,” said Allison, carefully, “that this is how Stiles contributes to the pack, and we have to respect him for it. If the worst thing he costs us is a Saturday morning chasing down a bad lead, then are we really that bad off? You and I have both done far worse.”

“But you don’t believe that we’re being hunted by the government?”

“No. My family has enough contacts in the government to know if they were mounting a hunt for werewolves.” She pointed at the door down the hall. “There it is. Can you tell if she is in there?”

Isaac stalked up to the door. Ever since the end of the fight with the Darach and the Alpha Pack, he’d been practicing moving stealthier as well as using his senses. He put his ear near the door and listened for a moment and then shook his head. “If she’s there, she’s not breathing or moving.” 

“Keep watch.” Allison got down on her knees to pick the lock on the door. “Hotel doors are easy if the hotel is cheap enough.” 

Isaac tried to keep himself from watching Allison work on the lock, because she needed him to make sure they weren't surprised or interrupted. He couldn’t help it. though; he loved watching her. He tried to be smooth about it, but even after dating her for a few months, he thought that she was just so amazing. He couldn’t believe that they were going steady. He sometimes wondered what she saw in him. 

And then there was Scott. He had pushed past the feelings of betrayal that had plagued him when he first started seeing her. Scott’s reluctance to be angry with him and his refusal to punish him had not made him feel any better. Scott did not treat him any different, but he felt different. It does not matter if the person you stabbed in the back forgave you; you still stabbed them.

Allison was finished. “Here we go. I’ll search. I’m going to abuse your hearing to make sure we get out before we are discovered.” 

They slid into the room. “She made her bed?” Isaac said aloud. “Who makes their bed in a hotel room?”

“Military people,” Allison answered. “Be alert.” 

Isaac stayed near the door, listening for people moving outside. Allison started a thorough search of the room, methodically and with purpose. “You’ve been taught how to toss hotel rooms?”

“Know thy enemy,” Allison replied brusquely. “Gerard may have been a complete bastard, but he was right about that. You can’t really keep to the Code unless you have facts.” She pulled out a leather case from underneath the bathroom’s sink. “Here we go.”

Isaac wanted to go over and help her look through the case, but she just nodded to the door. It would be awkward if they were surprised. His thoughts drifted back to Allison and Scott, but he came to a decision. He wouldn’t take Derek up on his offer. He’d find a way to stay with both of them; this is where he wanted to be.

“Isaac,” Allison said, breathlessly. “It looks like Stiles was right and wrong. The major here is looking for Scott, but it isn’t because he’s a werewolf. They think he’s a spy.”

Isaac burst out into a surprise laugh. “What?” The idea was so ludicrous he couldn’t process it.

“The trips he’s been making on Saturday. They think he might be a courier for an espionage ring.” Allison shifted through the papers quickly. “We should have known it was too good to be true. We need to tell the others quickly.” She caught his eye. “Turns out that Harris is a Nazi spy.”

Isaac shrugged. “Makes sense.” He opened the door for her and they ran out. 

*****

Peggy drove past the home of the chemistry teacher, Mr. Harris. It was an unassuming house on an unassuming block. But then again, the requirement that spies live in palatial lairs happened only in Republic Serial movies. She considered how to approach the situation. If she had more time, she’d set up surveillance and get warrants, but she didn’t. 

She checked the gun in her purse. It would be reckless for her to confront Harris directly. She should call for backup from the FBI, but she was not sure she could justify it. All she had was the hearsay that he had hired Scott McCall to make deliveries to an estate that may or may not be the destination of Hydra agents. It was enough for an investigation, but it was not enough for a warrant. She was going to have to do it herself and be prepared for it to go wrong.

She put on her best ‘I’m not a threat’ face on, walked up to the door, and knocked on it. 

The door opened, but only partially; there was a chain keeping the door closed. She could only see part of the man’s face; he was getting to be middle aged, with sharp features, glasses, and a scowl. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Major Peggy Carter with the United States Army.” She showed him her identification through the crack in the door. Not only did it establish her authority, but it also gave her a reason to have her purse open and thus easy access to her pistol without seeming to be too aggressive. “I am looking for Adrian Harris.”

“I’m Adrian Harris,” the man said, defensively. “What can I do for you, Major?”

“I just have a few questions, if I could borrow a few minutes of your time.” She offered a bright smile. “They're pretty routine questions.” 

Harris looks at her. “Very well.” He closed the door and she heard the chain being removed.

Sometimes, when you cut corners and improvise, things can go really well. Sometimes, they don’t. This was the latter case. When the door fully opened, Harris was pointing a pistol at her face. “Either you have terrible timing or I do, Major Carter. Please, come inside. No sudden moves and put your purse on the table by the door there.” As she stepped inside, he stepped back so she did not have to get close to him.

Peggy sighed inwardly. Behind Harris on the floor were three suitcases. He had been on his way out the door, which means that even though it had gone badly, she had still been right to press the issue. 

“Now, close the door.” The chemistry teacher motioned with the pistol. “You couldn’t have waited a half hour?”

Peggy had been in this situation too many times to be more than just a little bit nervous. “You must have known we would have caught up with you eventually.” She noticed the scar on his throat; she had never seen a scar like that – how would he have survived a cut that deep?

“Have a seat on the couch. Eventually you would have caught up with me, I am quite sure, but it isn’t you I'm worried about. You don’t have any evidence to convict me. I'm an American citizen, and you can’t prove I’ve done anything wrong.”

“Providing material comfort to the enemy is a crime whether you are citizen or not.” She sat down. He was not stupid, she could tell, by the way he kept sufficient distance between them. 

“Agree to disagree. Now, I have to decide what to do with you. Does anyone know you were coming to see me?” He remained standing and moved towards the window to check it.

Peggy didn’t answer him. She knew that Steve would check in this evening and eventually figure out she would have come to his house, but that could be hours. 

Harris sneered at her. “You’ll find this will go much better if you cooperate. I have no intention of hurting any … humans.” 

“If you want me to cooperate, then you need to fill me in on what is happening. Do you understand who you're helping? Hydra is the most dangerous organization in the world.”

“The only person I am helping is me, beyond repaying Dr. Woltzmann for her kindness.” He chuckled. “You don’t think I survived this …” He touched his throat. “… through sheer luck do you? Now, the books are balanced. Soon, I’ll be out of this wretched city and somewhere else.” 

“This is kidnapping, if you hadn't forgotten.”

“Unfortunately true, but that is not yet an insurmountable problem. I've learned a lot in the last few years.” Both of them heard the approaching roar of a truck; keeping an eye on her, Harris went to the window and peered through the sheer curtain. “Conveniently enough for my point, here is Stilinski and his dogs now. It will probably be better this way.” 

Agent Carter watched him from her position on the couch. “You aren’t actually going to shoot children, are you?” He might possibly do so, but she started calculating how quickly she could get to him. 

“Be quiet,” he orders. “You’ll find out soon enough.” He walked over to the shelf where he had put her purse, picked up a vase and then dropped it. Peggy was dumbfounded by the action. It might have been a distraction, but there was no one to hear it.

Peggy scowled at her surroundings. The only things he had on the coffee table in the living room were magazines. On the end table at the other end of the couch was a lamp, but it was so far away that she’d be a sitting target if she went for it. She’d try it though, if he threatened to shoot other people.

There was the sound of pounding footsteps and the door suddenly burst open as if a battering ram had struck it, but it was instead a large young man, maybe a few years older than Stilinski. From her position on the couch, Peggy could see he was muscular and tall, with short cropped brown hair. Harris fired immediately, hitting him in the stomach. Peggy lurched to the other side of the couch and picked up the lamp. 

“Not so fast, Major Carter,” said Harris. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He called out. “These are special bullets, Mr. Stilinski. I’ll put him down permanently if you and your girlfriend don’t get in here now.”

Stiles and a girl that Carter had seen with McCall earlier entered. Stiles was moving carefully but the girl looked like she was about ready to throw herself at the chemistry teacher. 

“Aiden? How you doing?” The sheriff’s son was remarkably calm for someone being threatened a gun. Peggy was right; there was something strange about them. “Major Carter? Hi. You okay?”

The man named Aiden grunted in pain. “Where the hell did he get wolf's bane?” He tried to get up, but he gasped, his feet slipping on the pooling blood on the floor, and then he sat back down heavily. The girl knelt down next to him. 

“I seem to be doing quite well, Stiles, though I am a bit confused about what is going on. If you’d be so kind as to enlighten me?” She was confused, but she was hoping to get Harris distracted. 

Stiles was calm, she could tell that, but not unaware of the danger he was in. He looked at Aiden and then at the gun that Harris was using. “It seems Mr. Harris here is not only a terrible human being as well as a crappy teacher, but he's also working for the Nazis. It seems kinda stupid. Wouldn’t it be more convenient to work for the Japanese?” He takes a step forward and to the side, leaving the girl and Aiden on the floor together. “He also seems to not be as completely ignorant as he used to be, which is surprising.”

“At least I'm human,” sneered the teacher. “After the number of times your monstrous allies have dragged me into their wars, I was bound to pick up something wasn’t I? Today though, my association with you, their kind, and this city ends. You'll never see me again.”

Stiles shot a glance at the major to see if she had picked up on Harris's words. Peggy remained stoic. “How do you think you are going to walk away? I’m sure that if my Dad doesn’t catch you, the SSR will.” 

“They can come after me all they want. It’ll never see the inside of a court room.”

“That depends, Mr. Harris,” Peggy countered, “On what information you gave Dr. Woltzmann and how it will help Hydra. You put the gun down and surrender and help me get that man medical attention, and I think you can get out of this with only a few years in jail.”

The girl spoke up. “Stiles, Aiden’s pretty bad. He got him good. We’re going to need a bullet.” She had been trying to stench the bleeding. 

“I’m fine,” grunted Aiden. “You should just take him down.”

Stiles looked back at Aiden. “Okay, Malia. Aiden, shut up.” He turned back to Harris. “What the hell do you want? What do you get out of this?”

“That’s smart of you, Stilinski; if only you applied yourself as hard in class. What you are going to do is take my baggage out to my car, and then you are going to bring the carburetors of your truck and Major Carter’s jeep back in. Then, when I am safe in the driver’s seat, I will drop a bullet out of this gun so you can help that monster. Those two don’t move. What I get out of this is simple – I clear my debts, I get a life as far away from this hellhole as $50,000 can get me, and I get revenge on your entire menagerie.” He looked over at Major Carter. “I doubt that I will get in trouble with the G-men for sharing cookie recipes and entertaining stories of my students with a friend.”

“I doubt Hydra is paying you that much money for recipes.” Peggy’s been slipping sideways slightly every time that Harris looked elsewhere. She was going to brain him with a thrown lamp as soon as she could. 

“Revenge.” Stiles wondered aloud and then he shouted angrily at Harris. “You sold Scott to them, didn’t you?”

“Again, with your intellect, you really should have applied yourself more in class. Fifty thousand for an idiot is good money, and then there is the added bonus of hurting all of you. If I understand it correctly, packs don’t too well without their alphas. By dinner time, he’ll be on a submarine and you’ll never see him again.” The teacher was crowing. Peggy took the opportunity to grab the lamp and lift it over her head for a toss.

She never made it, for the sight of the girl, Malia, and the wounded man, Aiden, transforming into snarling beasts with shining blue eyes blue, fangs and claws, stopped her in mid life. Harris took a step back, bringing the pistol to bear on them. 

“You have a deal, Harris. Malia, put the teeth away and get his bags. I’m going to get the cars.” When the two monsters looked up at him, he said urgently. “We can’t help Scott is we’re in a standoff or dying from bullet wounds. Faster this jerk gets on the road, faster we can turn to important things.” Stiles turned to Peggy. “Major, you have to believe me, there are a lot more important things here than this drip. I’ll tell you everything, just let him go.” 

Stiles left the house at a sprint, without waiting for anyone to answer. 

Harris laughed and pointed the gun at Peggy, while moving away from the monsters and his own baggage. “Hurry up, Miss Tate. His blood is already beginning to turn black. You can put down the lamp, major. You see, there’s no reason for you to get involved in this.” 

With this turn of events, Peggy had to agree, putting the lamp down. As much as it burned her to see this slime get away, the earnestness in Stiles’ voice convinced her. She had to understand what was going on. Things had gotten complex, but Harris was wrong. There was every reason for her to get involved in this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Father Coughlin was an isolationist radio personality who believed that President Roosevelt knew about Pearl Harbor before hand. He was extraordinarily popular until the war started, but afterwards he was regarded as a kook.
> 
> Again, I hope that the characters don't seem to OOC. Malia was being difficult for me, for some reason. Give me feedback!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia, Jackson and Ethan stop by Oak Creek; Stiles and Peggy Carter make a deal; Cap confronts Scott on the way to Sanderling Roost.

MARCH 20, 1943 (Continued) 

Jackson sat in his beloved car down the narrow drive from Oak Creek Internment Camp. The camp had been built on the skeletal foundation of a never-finished factory complex. Started in the late twenties, all the money for its completion had been drained by the Great Crash. Since then, the place had sat rotting and unused until the government had confiscated everything. The camp was close enough to the Eichen House hospital so that they hadn’t needed to build an infirmary on the site; it was a money-saving gesture.

“Cheapskates.” Jackson was amazed at the contempt in his own voice. It was the same old contempt, the same old disdain, but it served a new, twisted purpose. Before, he would disparage things and people out of fear that some sharp edge would tear the mask he wore over the hollow behind his eyes; it kept people and events at a distance. Now, the disparagement kept things and people at a distance so he wouldn’t tear _them_ with his sharp edges.

“I doubt they built it to last,” said Lydia speculatively. “I hope they didn’t build it to last; that would be simply too depressing.” Jackson knew she was trying to cover real feeling with her princess mask, but it did not deceive him anymore. Not only could she hear the approach of death, but she also had resolved to fight it. She was becoming more like Scott, a hero. He wondered, as he often did, when she would get tired of him. 

Ethan gripped the back of the seat. “How do we want to do this?” Jackson noticed that while Ethan was just as aggressive as his brother – it was probably an ex-alpha thing – but he was always more polite about it. 

Jackson bit his tongue. He felt like demanding how he was supposed to know, but he deferred to Lydia. He did not resent the fact that he wanted to do that. In fact, it made him comfortable. “We go up and ask to speak to her. We don’t need to explain it to them,” she replied. 

The three of them did just that, going up to the gate where two soldiers were guarding the entrance. The soldiers were bored, as soldiers usually were when on duty. Lydia took the lead; she knew how effective a pretty girl could be. 

“Excuse me; we’re here to see Major Carter? I’ve never been to a military base, so I don’t know what I have to do to get in.” She flashed her brightest smile.

The guards were appropriately dazzled. Jackson stared away from the gate and Ethan was bored. The younger guard rifled through a clip board. “I’m sorry. There’s no Major Carter here.”

“Oh,” Lydia expressed a flighty disappointment. “I guess he was just pretending to be something he wasn’t. How sad.” 

Ethan turned to her and shook his head. There had been no reaction to the incorrect pronoun. Jackson started walking back to the car. This had been a waste of time and a waste of a Saturday.

The guards flirted back, asking what she did, and Lydia smiled at them, encouragingly but said she had to get going. “And you should really see a doctor about that cough.”

Lydia and Ethan left the two guards bemused at the gate, trying to catch up to Jackson. “Lydia, no one was coughing.”

Lydia stopped by the car. She took a deep breath and turned to look back at the camp, cocking her head to listen to something. “Wonderful. Because it is never just one thing.” She turned to the two boys. “That can wait until later. So, it is off to the school?”

Jackson groused at this as he opened the door for them. “This drive was for nothing.”

“Actually,” explained Lydia, “it was informative. If Major Carter’s cover story was false, that means that Stiles’ suspicions might actually have a basis in fact. But we’ve done all we can here.”

They piled into the car and start driving to the school. Jackson began to think about arguing that they should wait for Scott to come back before they did anything else. This was what his life had become, but it wasn’t all bad. 

He shouldn’t have thought that. They had reached downtown when suddenly Ethan doubled over in the back seen with a grunt of that was equal parts of surprise and pain. He gripped the back of the seat so hard that Jackson thought that his upholstery was a goner.

“What? Don’t do that!”

“Aiden. Aiden’s been shot.” Ethan did manage to take his hands off the seat's back and put them to his stomach. “It’s bad. Right in the stomach.”

Jackson looked back at the pain on the twin's face and put his foot down on the gas. His parents were rich enough to afford to pay for a ticket. “Do you know where?”

Ethan shook his head. “It’s not like that. We just feel the same pain.” He had totally shifted, uncontrollably, by the sheer amount of pain that was being shared. 

Lydia gave him an address. “That’s Harris’s house. I got it from Stiles this morning.”

*****

If Stiles believed he had hated Adrian Harris as much as it was possible to hate someone sitting in his chemistry class, it was nothing compared to the hatred that he felt now. It was so sharp and so bright that it felt like mini flares were going off behind his eyes. Harris loved every minute of it. 

Stiles had presented him with two carburetors and Malia had gotten his luggage out to his car. Harris had dropped a bullet out of his jacket. When Stiles had demanded assurances it was the right type of bullet, Harris had just smirked. 

He was thinking of appropriate revenge when he suddenly remembered he had a dying werewolf, a prone-to-violent-solutions werecoyote, and an Army major who may or may not be hunting said creatures in the house behind him. Graphic retribution could wait for a better time.

Sure enough, when he got inside, Aiden was nearly unconscious and already bleeding black, Malia was watching Major Carter with her claws out, and the major had her purse – though Stiles noted she had not pulled her gun. Which was good. Very good. 

“Uhm, ma’am, or major, or whatever I should call you, we’ve got so, so much to talk about and it’s all super important but I really have to take care of my friend here, or he is going to die.” He hoped that this made him sound decisive and not spastic, but he was relieved when she just nodded in agreement. “Malia, you have to find some matches or a lighter.” He got down on his knees next to Aiden. 

Aiden had that glassy stare of someone about to slip into unconsciousness. He muttered to Stiles, “I really miss being an alpha.” 

“Well, I don’t miss you being an alpha. So you just stay awake while I get this bullet open.” Stiles pulled at the bullet but it would not open. He had seen Derek do this a half-dozen times. He slammed it against the ground. “Open up, damn it.”

“What are you doing?” demanded the major. 

“A single bullet wouldn’t put him in danger, but my friend’s been shot with a poisoned bullet. We have to burn the poison out of him, but I have to get this bullet open.” He was beginning to get frustrated with himself; why couldn’t he open a stupid bullet?

“Here.” The major suddenly took the bullet from his hand and deftly cracked it open. She handed it back to him, while Malia arrived with kitchen matches. 

Stiles hated blood and wounds. He suspected he always would, but he lit the bullet’s contents with the match and stuffs them hot ashes into the wound. He searched the wound for signs of healing; Aiden had gone unconscious, but his breathing was slow and steady, and healing had begun.

“Thanks.” He sat down and grabbed Malia’s hand. While he had never been the twins’ biggest fan, he had moved on past really wanting them dead and into only mockingly wanting them dead. “Uhm, okay, Major, there is a lot I have to fill you in on and you have to fill me in on and I tend to say everything that is on my mind at once. But I think time is of the essence, so …” He looked at Malia. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen and talk quickly. Malia, can you stay with Aiden?”

Malia nodded in response, though she was still eyeing the soldier. Stiles loved that about her; when he was in the thrall of an hyperkinetic episode, she always thought of it as normal.

In the kitchen, he and the army officer stared at each other. Finally, the major shook her head. “From what I have been able to tell, you and your friends have worked very hard to keep this a secret. I can understand this, to a certain extent, but there is no time. A senior member of Hydra, the Nazi’s deep science division, is on his way to California. From what Harris said, he is here for your friend. I need to know why.”

Stiles took a deep breath; he really had no choice. “Okay, many of my friends are werewolves. Werewolves form packs just like real wolves, because it makes them stronger, faster, better. All packs have an alpha, a leader. The alpha is the strongest, fastest, best werewolf in the pack. Once every century or so, a werewolf becomes a true alpha. My friend Scott is a true alpha. I don’t really know why they would want them, but I guess you and I could image all sorts of terrible situations.”

The major nodded in agreement once more. “All right. I don’t have time right now to be more than quite amazed how this has been hidden from us for so long, but I know that if Hydra wants your friend, I don’t want them to have him. I’m going to need to get to my jeep and then get another vehicle, since you gave my carburetor to Harris.”

Stiles shook his head. “Harris wouldn’t know the different type of car parts; I stole the second carburetor from the neighbor’s car. Your jeep is fine.“ He takes a step forward. “And I’m going with you.”

The major immediately put on a ‘you are too young/just a child’ face. 

Stiles stepped in front of her, blocking her exit. “I know you can probably take me down no problem, but there are four reasons why you are taking me with you. First, you’ve already admitted you don’t know anything about werewolves. Well, I know a lot. Second, you’re probably not familiar with California or the shortcuts on the highways. How much time do you want to waste? Third, if anyone’s attacked Scott, he’ll be suspicious and on guard. He’ll trust me. Fourth and finally, you leave me behind and I’ll load up the pack in whatever cars we can find and go after Scott. Believe me, you don’t’ want to get between a pack and its alpha.” 

Stiles could see the major doing the calculations. “I can’t argue with that, but you’ll do what I say, exactly when I say it. Let’s go.”

Stiles followed her out of the kitchen. “I’ll be right out.” The major went out to the jeep. He stopped to see how Aiden and Malia were doing. Aiden was breathing easier, but still out.

Malia was already scowling at him. “I don’t want you going alone with her. You should wait for the pack.” He had trusted that she was listening.

“I know, I know, but she doesn’t have time to wait, and I need to go with her. You need to do something for me.” He kneels down. “The FBI and the SSR can’t get Harris. He knows too much, and he’d sell all of you out to avoid jail time. You guys need to find him first, no matter what and … take care of him.”

Malia was going to make him say it. “You want us to kill him. Scott wouldn’t like it.” 

Stiles rubbed at his face. “He sold Scott to the damn Nazis. Scott will get over it. I gotta go.” He bent down and kissed her. “Be careful. His bullets are nasty.

Malia nodded and grabbed his forearm. “Don’t be surprised if we follow you.”

Stiles waved her off and went outside. Following him would be very difficult for the pack to do since none of them but him knew where Scott had been driving too every weekend. He was sure they’d be angry at him too, but he did not actually trust the SSR or the FBI. Right now, he needed them to make sure Scott was safe, but they might come to the conclusion later that werewolves could help the war effort. The less exposure the pack had to government agents, the better.

“Repeat,” Peggy Carter spoke into the shortwave radio in the jeep. “The courier is the target. McCall is the target. Over.”

A voice crackled from the short wave. “I copy you. He hasn’t passed by today. We’ll stop him. Over.” 

Stiles ran up next to the jeep. “Scott sees guns, he’s going to assume hunter. We thought you were one.”

Carter nodded in acknowledgement. “Steve, McCall’s unaware of the danger, but he might assume you are hostile. He is enhanced; be careful. Over.” 

The voice over the shortwave responded. “Always am. Captain Rogers, over and out.” 

Stiles’ eyes got big. “Was that actually?” When Peggy nodded, he took a breath and went on. “That’s good. Scott loved the movies.” 

*****

As much as Scott was grateful to Mr. Harris for the opportunity, he had to admit that he was glad that this was his last trip to Sanderling Roost. He appreciated the money; it was going to come in handy. He appreciated, strangely enough, the time alone to think about things. Sometimes, he felt a little overwhelmed around the pack, and the time alone had done him good. He also had, the first two times, appreciated the scenery, but there is only so much you can see when you are driving past the woods at this speed. Now, it had become a chore.

He was now looking forward to tomorrow. He had had his time alone and now there was part of him that wanted pack. It was fantastic, he reluctantly admitted it to himself. The best part of being a werewolf, of being an alpha, was the knowledge that he never really had to be alone, even though he sometimes felt that not being alone was difficult. 

He was not so lost in his thoughts that he was unaware of the road block up ahead when he turned the corner. Two cars had been parked across the road to Sanderling Roost with four men standing with guns drawn in a remote part of the road; it all screamed hunters to Scott. He hit the brakes and slid the motorcycle to a stop, but he kept it running. He was suspicious, but he wasn’t going to attack without provocation.

From this distance, he saw the guns come up. He heard the men identify themselves as part of the FBI, and that he had to turn off the motorcycle and put his hands up. He hesitated for a moment, because he hadn’t done anything and this must all be a big mistake and all he would have to do was talk to them. Then the part of brain that Stiles had taken over smacked him upside the head and explained that if the FBI wanted to arrest him, they would have come to his house, and while his father was a terrible person he still would have known if his son was wanted by the bureau. The Stiles part of his brain went on to say that they were obviously hunters and he needed to get the hell out of there right now before they started shooting at him. 

He gunned the motorcycle and raced off the road and into the forest. They immediately begin shooting at him though he could hear people yelling at others to shoot him and others yelling not to shoot him. It didn’t really matter because even though he wasn't going at a really high rate of speed through a forest, he still had to concentrate on not running into a tree. If he didn’t have superhuman reflexes and the ability to heal injuries, it might have been the most suicidal thing he had ever tried, and he had allied himself with someone called the Demon Wolf. 

He drove in what he thought was a large circle. He was not sure why he was doing it, except that he wasn’t sure where to go. He was not going to drive straight back home, because the hunters were going to have had to know where he came from and if they wanted to ambush him again, they’d go that way. He’d have to take a long way home, but it was better than being shot again.

He was still trying to plan out his next move and navigate a forest with which he was unfamiliar while on a speeding motorcycle when he heard what sounded like something metal clanging against something hard. He tried to focus on it, but he couldn't locate the sound until that something metal hit the front tire of his motorcycle and knocked him and the bike ass over teakettle.

He might have laughed if he could have seen himself tumble through the air, the world spinning merrily through the goggles of his helmet. But then he slammed into the ground, landing on his left hand and feeling the bones in the wrist crack, and then feeling the rear wheel of his bike land on his ankle. He slid through the dirt and leaves to slam up against a tree. Pain shot through his body at all of those points, but he could already tell that none of them were going to be disabling injuries. It was not funny to him that he had learned which injuries would disable him. While he did heal, he still felt the pain. 

Scott pushed himself up against a tree with an elbow on the same arm as his fractured wrist. It was already knitting itself together but the pain shot up his arm as it did so. With his other hand, he tore off his helmet and threw it to the ground. He needed all of his senses. He balanced on one leg – all he needed was a minute or two to be fully mobile.

There was no visual sign of whatever had done that to his bike, but he could hear one person moving through the underbrush out in the woods. They were pretty good; he could barely tell which direction they were moving. 

He glanced down at his motorcycle, long enough to tell that it was ruined. It would probably take all the money he had made driving this and the last three Saturdays to repair it. “My bike,” he said aloud in disbelief. All he wanted was a motorcycle and now it was gone and he hadn’t done anything. He and Stiles had found it, saved it, fixed it up, together. It was something boys did, normal boys did, and now it was just a pile of junk, just like everything else.

Scott knew he should run away; he knew he should use the woods and his senses to hide. It was the best play; it was the smart play. He took one more look at the wreckage of his motorcycle and roared. Let them come for him. Let them know they were hunting an alpha. 

He was in full transformation and his senses were sharpened to their greatest degree. He could hear the hunter moving through the forest. He could smell the aftershave, the gun oil, and some sort of leather that he wasn’t totally familiar with. There was only one of them, coming up on his right. 

Well, if the roar hadn’t scared him off, then maybe a show of strength would. Scott picked up a fallen log and hurled it in the general direction of the hunter. It wouldn’t hurt him, but it would slam into the some trees, causing a good distraction. On instinct, he followed up the log. If the roar and the smashing wood hadn’t scared the hunter off, he would throw him around a bit. 

He sprinted around the tree after the log had smashed into it and the distraction of the log wasn’t much of a distraction because the hunter punched him square in the face with enough force to make him stagger back. He shook his head to clear it.

“Son,” The hunter addressed him like he was playing truant. “You need to calm down before you make this worse than it already is.”

In a rage, Scott turned around grabbed the hunter by the shoulders and planned to push him back against one of trees. “You attacked me! You calm down!” Scott would think about the elementary-school quality of that comment later. 

Scott was more surprised when the hunter actually stopped his momentum. He was still stronger than his opponent, but not by much. The shock cleared his head from the rage he was feeling. He had managed to keep his claws from hurting the other man, as he usually did but he was aware of the costume the man was wearing. He took a step back and as he did so, the man struck him with his shield. It knocked him back a good six feet and he went down on his hands and feet, clawing at the earth. 

With his shield. Oh, God. He had seen the movies and the posters. He wasn’t fighting a hunter; he was fighting Captain America. Scott stood there as it settled in. This meant that the people who said they were FBI were actually federal agents. 

Captain America took a step toward him. “McCall, I’m not sure what is going on with you, but you are in danger. You need to come with me, right now.”

For a moment, Scott was really tempted to do just that. He knew it was childish, but the man before radiated positive authority. It would certainly be easier. He couldn’t though; he knew what would happen if the pack became known to the government. Too many people worked too hard to protect that secret. He was the alpha, and so it was his responsibility. But he wasn’t going to fight a hero.

Scott turned and ran into the woods.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve concludes his battle with Scott outside of the estate. Isaac suddenly realizes that he is Scott's second when called upon to make decisions. Stiles and Major Carter discuss the situation as they hurry toward Sanderling Roost.

MARCH 20, 1943 (Continued) 

Steve watched the kid sprint away on all fours through the trees. He hesitated for maybe thirty seconds in a storm of wonder. The first thought that went through his mind in during that time was: _That was a wolf man_. He had seen the movie starring Lon Chaney two years ago with Bucky, though that time now seemed like some far-away age, and he had really enjoyed it. Of course, he hadn’t thought that wolf men were real when he was watching it. The second thought that went through his mind was: _The kid was panicking_. This thought jarred against the first one in his mind. He did not see why, as the kid had fangs and claws and seemed to be stronger than he was, and the only other person he had ever met who had been as strong as he was had been Schmidt. The final thought that went through his mind was more practical: _He just ran in the direction of the enemy_.

It was that final thought that spurred him into action. While the kid had a small lead on him, Cap had scouted this area out beforehand. There was a gulch between this location and the edge of the estate. It might slow McCall down long enough for him to catch up. He sprinted through the trees, moving with as much speed as he could manage in the forested terrain. He’d try to talk the kid down, but if he couldn’t he knew he would have to restrain him.

He spotted McCall up ahead paused at the edge of the gulch. The kid had obviously seen the gulch and was moving back to take a running jump over it. If he succeeded, Steve realized, he would be within a hundred feet of the manicured grounds of Sanderling Roost and whatever forces Hydra had there. 

Steve calculated that he had one shot at this. When McCall rushed to make his jump, he matched his own leap, grabbing the teen around the legs, ruining the jump’s momentum and angle. They tumbled through the air, and Steve angled his shield to absorb the brunt of the impact into the side of the gulch. The pair of them rolled down the rough side of the ravine, McCall struggling to get free, while stones and prickly bushes tore at their clothes and flesh.

Steve scrambled to his feet at the bottom as he got to the bottom of the gulch. A quick search of the floor of the ravine indicated that no one had been there for quite a while. There was a narrow, rocky stream bed was surrounded by untouched vegetation. The heavy leather of his suit had thwarted the young spring growth of thorns that covered the sides of the depression, but he did have a cut on his cheek from a rock. It was nothing to write home about.

He didn’t have much time to think about it, anyway, as McCall had rolled to his feet as well. Running hadn’t worked, so it looked like the kid was going to try fighting his way out. With a roar of “Leave me alone!” the boy slammed a fist into his shield. The vibranium absorbed the force of the blow, allowing Steve’s answering roundhouse kick to land squarely, landing the wolf man on his back in the stream. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” He took a step forward, but McCall rolled out of the stream and once more onto his feet. The monster shook himself, and it was enough like a dog for Steve would have had to stop from laughing if the situation hadn’t been so tense. 

As they clashed, Steve analyzed McCall’s fighting style. It was far more acrobatic than his, relying on unexpected angles of attack. It would have given the boy an advantage if he had had more practice, but he wasn’t compensating in his approach for the way Steve fought. This left the wolf man open to counterattacks. Steve had been trained to fight by professionals, and they had taught him to analyze the way his opponents fought to identify weaknesses. Most opponents would wear themselves out long before Steve even got winded. In addition to his inexperience, it was clear to the soldier that the boy wasn’t using his formidable-looking claws and teeth; McCall was trying to beat him without hurting him.

After a particularly fierce exchange that had _both_ of them staggering for once, McCall paused with one hand steadying him on the side of the gulch. “Why are you coming after me?” It was a demand filled with frustration but Steve could swear there was an element of hurt to it.

Steve stopped his forward rush to attack. He'd take advantage to try to end this fight before someone got hurt. “Because we aren’t the only ones. The people you’ve been working for – the Barkers and your chemistry teacher – are working with the Nazis.” It was best to get it out in the open right away; it was obvious now why they wanted McCall, even if Steve still had trouble believing that the reason was even real. “Attacking you may not have been the best way to stop you, but I couldn’t let you reach the estate.”

McCall took several deep breaths; his claws retracted and his face returned to looking like a human. He now looked like a teenager who had been in a car wreck, clothes muddy and torn. He closed his eyes in frustration and not a little anguish. “You aren’t lying; this is so bad. Damn it.” He looked up at the Captain as if apologizing for cursing. “People aren’t supposed to find out we’re real.” 

Steve slung his shield on his back. He was able to relax now that McCall looked human once again. “I can’t promise anything about that, but I know you don’t want to be captured by Hydra. So, how about we go back to my jeep and we get the hell out of here.”

McCall looked at the edges of the gulch and then back up at the sky as if trying to figure out the right thing to do. “Okay. I'll go with you to get away from this place, but …I'm not going to tell you anything. And I won't be going anywhere but home.”

Steve thought grimly that they’d cross that bridge when they came to it. “After you.” He gestured to the side of the gulch that lead toward the road and his jeep. He wondered if he could sneak the kid past the FBI or even if he should.

It was easier for the kid to climb up first, because when he extended his claws, he could make handholds. Steve didn’t think he’s going to bolt, though he had a plan in case the boy tried it. When he got to the top, McCall extended a hand to him to pull him up. As Cap reached for it, the kid looked up and cocked his head to the side. “What’s that smell?” 

Steve could never figured out what he meant by that, as chaos broke loose when a machine gun opened fire from across the top of the gulch. In the spray, a bullet grazed his left thigh; while the suit helped protect him, it still hurt like hell. He saw McCall take a bullet in the side, heard his grunt of pain, and the sharp intake of breath. Hydra had arrived.

It would not have taken a tactical genius to realize they were in a dangerous position, balanced on the side of a ravine. With a bloody cough, McCall pulled on Steve’s hand with all significant strength and threw him up and away from the edge of the gulch. Steve twisted in the air – he’d done this type of thing before – and landed as gracefully as possible.

McCall had pulled himself over the edge of the gully rolled over onto his back after he had thrown him. He had gotten shot in the calf as well and started to try to crawl away from the edge of the gulch, towards cover. Steve scanned the other side of the gulch and his heart sank. There were indeed Hydra troopers there on American soil. He had to get McCall out of there, even if he was dying, and then come back to deal with them. 

Before he could act on that plan, one of the Hydra soldier threw a grenade. He could tell that it wasn’t a normal grenade; it was the same strange technology as their other weapons. “Get down!” Steve shouted, moving forward and kneeling, using his shield to protect him from the blast. He wouldn’t get to the boy in time. 

The grenade went off, filling his eyes and ears with light and sound. His shield took all the brunt of the force, but the wave caught some of his legs and part of his arm and tossed him back at least twenty feet. Steve tried to shake off the images burned into his eyes, tried to shake the ringing out of his skull. He knew he was a sitting duck like this, so he pedaled backwards into the underbrush. He had to fall back until he could recover.

His vision cleared enough for him to see that the Hydra soldiers were gone. He raced to where McCall had been, searching. It was probable that the boy was dead, but he needed to make sure. There was no body – not in the woods, not in the gulch. 

“Damn it.”

*****

The rest of the pack was crowded around the two cars in the school parking lot. One was the car that Allison had borrowed from her father; the other was Jackson’s car. They were in various stages of distress and argument over the revelations that have been gathered that morning.

Lydia stood next to Jackson and his car. The werewolves could scent the fury coming off of her, but all anyone had to do was look at her livid complexion. “I am going to kill Stiles Stilinski. You will see me beat him to death with my shoe. He ran off with that woman and left us here.” 

Isaac shifted nervously from foot to foot where he was standing near the front of the Argent car. Ever since they had reconvened, he had been aware of the now-almost-fully-recovered Aiden and Ethan staring at him, while Jackson pointedly was not looking at him. It occurred to him that they were all treating him like Scott’s second. To him, that had always been Stiles. He had never realized that they thought this way before; he didn’t like it. Allison, Lydia, and Malia could have cared less about hierarchy. 

Isaac wanted to defer to Allison, who had actual training on how to be a leader, but he knew that while she could be persuasive and would take over if necessary, the wolves in the pack were looking instinctively to him. “Uhm.” That was a great start. “The way I see it …” He trailed off. “I mean, we can go after Scott as a pack, we can go after Harris as a pack, or we can split up. But if we go after Harris, we need to decide what we’re going to do with him.”

No one looked particularly impressed with that. “We know what to do with him. Stiles is right; if Harris is willing to sell Scott to the Nazis, then he’ll sell us out so they don’t hang him.” Someone told Malia that traitors were hung. “He has to die.”

No one looked at each other for a few minutes. Isaac toed the ground rather than try to take the lead again. No one could imagine a way to stop Harris from talking to the government without killing him, and no one could imagine that he wouldn’t do what Stiles said, and no one could image how bad it would be if the government suddenly found out about werewolves – hell, if everyone found about werewolves in a public trial. 

The problem was Scott. They all knew that he would be upset that they hadn’t at least tried to find another way to stop Harris. He’d think that they let their anger at his treachery make the decision for them. Maybe he’d be able to think of a way to stop Harris. They had thought of them, but they all seemed too delicate and wishful thinking.

Isaac looked up and then met Allison’s eyes. She was looking at him as well; she had a grim look on her face and she nodded at him. She believed in him.

“We’re going to do both,” Isaac said suddenly. “Some of us will go after Harris; some will go to rescue Scott.” He takes a deep breath. “The people going after Harris will make sure he’s never found. When we get Scott back, I’ll tell him. It’s my decision.” 

The twins looked at each other. Ethan grimaces and then nods. Aiden turns to the rest. “Let us do it. We’ve already done … something like this.” He didn’t look at Jackson or Malia. “Willingly.”

Isaac scowled at them, but then he rubbed his face with one hand and nodded. 

Ethan looked over at Aiden. “We’ll need to fix the truck. He’s driving, and we don’t know where he’d drive to.”

“He’ll go to San Francisco. It’s the nearest place with an airport,” Allison broke in. “I’ll drive.” She put one hand on Isaac’s shoulder and squeezed. “We don’t have time to wait until you get the truck fixed; every moment we waste is going to mean he'll be harder to find.” 

“Go.” Isaac felt torn. He wanted to go to Scott’s aid, but he also wanted to go with Allison. “Jackson, would you mind driving? The rest of us will go to … Sanderling Roost.” He said to the other two. “Allison got the name and location out of the Major’s hotel room.”

Jackson shrugged. “Since you asked, sure.” Everyone was nervous, but they piled into the cars anyway. 

Lydia spoke from the front passenger seat. “Stiles must have known that we didn’t have any way to follow him, so he didn’t tell Malia for a reason. I get it; he doesn’t want more of us exposed to the government. So let us do everyone a favor and try to act inconspicuous? Just four kids on a nice drive in the country. Nothing scary about us, at all.”

******

Stiles learned something about himself and about Major Carter during the drive away from Beacon Hills. She was a really good driver, and she drove really fast. Neither of which bothered him, surprisingly. He knew that if he ever got a car, he’d be a really good driver, and now he knew he would also drive, really, really, really fast. It was fun.

The first half hour of the drive was pretty much silent, save for Stiles giving tips on short cuts to the major. He had studied the map when he knew Scott was going to be driving it. He hadn’t needed to, but he had gotten the urge one night. Now he was glad for his overwhelming curiosity.

Suddenly, the major turned to him. “You’re not a werewolf?” Given their speed and even with his enjoyment of it, he wished she would keep her eyes on the road.

“Nope. I was never bitten; I didn’t want to be. Probably for the best, I’d be a terrible werewolf.” He went on, bitingly. “Who’d want a clumsy, twitchy, crazy werewolf? I’d either go on a killing spree or accidentally burn the town down.” 

“So, if a werewolf bites you, you become a werewolf?” Stiles glanced over at her. He realized she was trying to work through why these Hydra people were after Scott. That was probably a better idea than thinking about their rate of speed.

“Only if you’re an alpha. But any alpha can make werewolves like that, and I’ve not heard that there’s anything special about a werewolf created by a true alpha, so I don’t think that’s why they’d come all this way.” He clucked his tongue. “But Scott’s never bitten anyone, so maybe they know something we don’t know.”

“He didn’t bite those two I met? Or the rest of your … pack?”

“No. Scott never wanted to be a werewolf; the alpha who bit him did it without asking, but he was a total villain.” Stiles thought about Peter. He mentally flipped him the bird all the way in Argentina. “I don’t think that Scott wants to bite anyone; even though he’s pretty damn good at being a werewolf, I think he still hates being one.”

The major frowned. “Do you know why they might want a true alpha?”

Stiles looked at her and then looked at the road. It was easy to trust her until he remembered that she was part of the government. She’s not supposed to know these things. Yet, he knew so little of the people that were after Scott and that could be just as dangerous. It looked like if he wanted to get information, he needed to give it, but that was exactly what he was afraid of doing.

“Look, Mr. Stilinski, it has to be something important. The people here aren’t doing this for a minor benefit.” She turned her eyes back to the road. “I promise you that I have no intention to use this against you or the people you hold dear. I can’t promise more than that.”

“Call me Stiles.” He sighed. This was a disaster. “In order to understand what a true alpha is, you have to understand how the power of the alpha usually transfers in a normal pack. When an alpha dies by natural causes or in an accident or some hunter kills the alpha, the power usually goes to the beta that was closest to the alpha in spirit. Yeah, I know that sounds inexact, but it’s supernatural, not scientific. When an alpha dies at the hands of another werewolf, that werewolf becomes the alpha. It sounds barbaric, but they’re not just human; they're also wolves. In this case, a werewolf can become an alpha without another alpha having to die; it doesn’t happen often, but our advisor told us that it comes about through virtue and force of will.”

“That’s what happened to Scott. He didn’t kill an alpha to become an alpha. In fact, he hasn’t killed anyone, even people who really, really deserve it. He tried really stubbornly to save anyone and bam – true alpha. You don’t know the whole story of the last year, so this is far more impressive than it sounds.”

“Then I am assuming the spree killings I read about were not normal spree killings, if there is such a thing as a normal spree killing.” Major Carter observed, obviously thinking about the police files. 

“Yeah. Most of those murders were done by werewolves out for revenge, a madman controlling a monster out for revenge, and a darach – think evil witch – out for revenge. Huh. That’s a lot of revenge.” Stiles hadn’t thought about it like that or maybe he had and just hadn’t wanted to remember it.

Major Carter keeps driving. “I still can’t see the angle.”

“Sometimes you can’t, especially in things like this,” Stiles responded as if speaking from experience. “You have to remember – even the good monsters survive by hiding. They lie; they conceal; they destroy information. We have an advisor who is the most frustrating advisor in the history of advisors because it’s become his habit to conceal everything. And he _likes_ us. I think.”

“Right.” She glanced at Stiles appraisingly. “Why are you involved?” 

“Why are you involved with the SSR?” Stiles shot back. 

Carter did not hesitate. “Early in the war I worked with code breakers in my native country. I saw brilliant men and women creating things that no one had dreamed about before. I realized then and there that it was going to be the side that developed new technology the quickest that was going to win this conflict, and I knew enough about our enemies that I knew it _had_ to be us. When America joined the war, I requested a transfer to the SSR, because I knew my own country was in no shape to mount a focused effort in research and development. When I learned about Hydra – the Nazi Deep Science Division, the opposite of the SSR – I knew I had made the right decision.” 

“I joined the SSR because it was the right thing to do. You talk about monsters, but I’ve seen what human monsters are doing right now across the world and I know what they are planning to do. There is a man who we believe is coming here for your friend, who would burn this world to the ground in order to create a new one. He has to be stopped, no matter what.” 

Stiles sat silently for a few minutes as the jeep sped down the road. “Jeez, way to make a guy feel small, lady.” He continued only after studying the floor for assistance and finding none. “At first, I got involved out of guilt. Scott would never have been bitten if I hadn’t dragged him into the woods for the stupidest reason in the history of stupid reasons. Then, I was involved to protect my father and Scott from the claws and teeth of the monsters that are out there. Now, I’m in a pack. It feels good, being part of something.”

“I told Scott that I’d go to war, if I could, but it wouldn’t be out of patriotism or anything like that. I’d do it to for the same reason I’m ‘involved’ – to protect the people I care for. Not that they’d let me do that.” He shrugs. “4-F all the way.”

“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but I don’t see why you would be classified like that.”

“I have hyperkinetic disorder. You’ve seen the symptoms: inability to focus and impulsiveness. When stuff like this happens, I can focus pretty well, but without my Benzedrine, I can’t maintain any sort of focus for long. I also have a history of madness in my family; my mom died of Pick’s Disease. There’s a good chance I’ll get it as well.” He shrugs. “The draft board told my Dad that most likely they’ll rank me 4-F. They don’t need crazy people in the army.”

“I wonder, young man, when you will get tired of saying that.” Major Carter observed. 

“Get tired of saying what?” Stiles questioned. He wasn’t sure what she meant. 

“That you aren’t needed. I will tell you what I saw today. I did not see a crazy person. I saw a person who knew exactly how to take care of an injured friend. I saw a person who was clear-headed enough to deal with a spy pointing a gun at him. I saw a person who was able to bargain his way into a military operation. I think there are a lot of people who need what you can offer, and I think I am going to need you to help resolve this situation with your friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see people as deferring to Stiles when Scott isn't there. After him, if it was 2013, they would turn to Allison next as the most experienced tactical commander, but not in 1943. Isaac is the closest wolf to Scott. I may explore this in future chapters.
> 
> Pick's Disease was the old name for Frontotemporal Dementia, after Arnold Pick who first described it in 1892. It now refers to a specific sub-type of FTD, but I have no idea which one is supposed to be what Claudia suffered from.
> 
> I love having the 'excuse' of the Hydra weapons, because stun grenades weren't really developed until the 1950s.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johann Schmidt, known as the Red Skull, and Katarina Woltzmann Barker (eventually to become known as The Geneticist) plot to turn Scott to their side. Captain America, Peggy Carter, and Stiles Stilinski plan a daring rescue mission. Allison and the twins go after Adrian Harris before he can disappear.

MARCH 20, 1943 (Continued)

Hiram Barker fretted about the drawing room like a debutante whose date to the prom was late. He radiated anxiety and impatience. “Excuse me, Herr Schmidt,” he said, attempting to muster up both gravity and command. “I appreciate your willingness to visit us in California, but given that we now know the authorities know you are here, it might be wisest to return to the _Jormungandr_ with haste.”

His mother, sitting in the corner while reading a book, made the smallest sound of displeasure.

“Mr. Barker,” Johann Schmidt announced in a voice used to command. He managed to keep the contempt out of it because he was a guest after all. It was only because he was a guest and Mr. Barker’s mother was a very interesting possible resource that the flabby American businessman wasn’t crawling on his hands and knees with a busted jaw. “I would have to ask you to respect my greater experience in these things. The appearance of Hydra troopers on the edge of your property can be explained away; in fact, I have my men preparing a plausible lie for you to give to _your_ authorities. However, the sight of a boat heading out to sea in the middle of the day cannot be easily explained away. It is best if we wait until nightfall.”

One of the benefits of a lifetime of command was the ability to purge any situation of unhelpful idiots. The seed magnate immediately calmed down even though Schmidt's explanation made little sense even to him. “What can I do to help you with that?”

“The untersturmfuhrer here speaks excellent English.” One of his troopers snapped to attention. “You can go with him and help brief your household staff on the appropriate cover story. I am sure you can trust your staff’s loyalty, can't you?”

Barker nodded in assent. “That sounds like a great idea.” He looked at the officer and then headed off to do something that was truly, completely meaningless.

Schmidt smiled to himself. The manipulation of weak minds always put him in a good mood. He patiently waited for about ten minutes, until he almost forgot about Barker’s mother being there.

She finally broke the silence with a delicate cough. “I would like it understood that while my son may be gullible, I am not. His point was valid, though I suspect you have an ulterior motive for waiting.” 

Schmidt's smile did not fade; the proper evaluation of competence also put him in a good mood. “I hope your son has excellent lawyers. I admit I did deceive him; Captain America’s presence means that the SSR somehow has divined my presence here, and that puts your family in danger. Let me assure you, madam, my men will make every effort to remove the traces of our presence here for both your protection and our own.”

Katarina Woltzmann Barker made a dismissive sound. “I can see to my own protection, and my son has been given all the tools he needs to protect himself. It is neither your nor my responsibility if he fails to make use of them. I am more interested in your motives for waiting until nightfall. You now possess all you need to assemble one of the strongest military forces the world has ever known; waiting here imperils that.”

“I've taken your word for that, Doctor, but your description is slightly incorrect. I have all the things I need except one: the cooperation of our prisoner. Given what you and your reports have told me of him, it might not be an easy task. He is probably just as short-sighted and sentimental as the individual from whose grip we just snatched him.” Schmidt smirked at the thought. “Gaining his cooperation is going to require not only a great deal of will, but, if I am not mistaken, a little theater.” 

The woman nodded. “I see. You have something planned then?”

“You will find I always have something planned, madam.” He stood up. “Why don’t we pay a visit to our captive and I will explain it to you in greater depth. I also must admit that the delay is also due to a certain personal desire. I cannot possibly leave until I demonstrate to Captain America how badly he has failed. We have clashed once before, and the end of that encounter was unsatisfactory to me.”

The woman led him down into the basement. “What do you think of Captain America's enhancements?”

“We are the product of the same process, Doctor.” He watched her posture change; she was fascinated with the concept of manipulating the human body. “I am the prototype; he is the revised process. Unfortunately, he has chosen to be a painted mascot for fatuous demagogues.”

“I can see why that would irritate you.” She opened a locked door. The captured youth is lying on a table within a cage made of wood. He was not restrained, but he was not conscious either. There was an intravenous drip fastened to his arm. 

Schmidt was not pleased about what he perceived as a lack of security around the boy, especially if he was as powerful as he has been made out to be. He glanced at the room in surprised and then looked at the doctor.

“The cage is made of mountain ash wood, also known as rowan. Properly set, most werewolves cannot even touch it, let alone break it. Given time and his full strength, the subject could get through it – that is one of the things that designates a true alpha – but he is not at his full strength at this time. Most cells designed for human restraint are not strong enough to hold an alpha werewolf.”

Schmidt approached the cage and opened it. To him, it felt just as normal wood. “Interesting. Not even a lock. Unnecessary?” He walked in.

“Yes.” She observed. “One of the things I had hoped to discover is exactly how the rowan tree affects lycanthropic physiology. That requires subjects, however. The emissaries are quite skilled at using the powdered form to create barriers. I have had to teach myself. It is ironic; werewolves are so powerful, and yet a line of ash on the ground renders them helpless.” 

“What is in the IV?”

“It is a mixture of saline solution and aconite, commonly known as wolf's bane. It has to be calibrated pretty narrowly to keep him unconscious. Too much, and it will kill the subject or allow the subject’s wounds to kill him. Wolf's bane weakens most of a werewolf’s natural abilities.”

“Is the risk truly necessary? Considering the extent of his injuries?”

“Ahh, Herr Schmidt, if it hadn’t been for that solution, the alpha would have been fully recovered by now. He was only shot twice and the damage done by your organization’s disruption grenade was meant to stun, not injure.” She joined him in the cage. “The wound in his leg has already completely healed.”

“I would not have believed it.” He is a bit envious. “A naturally superior version of the super soldier process.”

“Do not be too quick, Herr Schmidt, to jump to that conclusion. There are plenty of weaknesses to go along with wolf's bane and mountain ash, especially the psychological dependencies engendered by their condition. As powerful as they are, they are enslaved by the moon’s phase. As powerful as they are alone, they are very dependent on the emotional support of pack bonds. If they ignore these things, the werewolf will be driven mad, becoming no more than an animal.” She observes. “There is always room for improvement in any process, natural or supernatural. From what I have been able to observe, the scientific enhancement you underwent is far superior.”

Schmidt could tell by the off-hand way she spoke that she was not flattering him. She was analyzing the situation and evaluating the phenomena in comparison. “Does that solution affect his mental state? Could you adjust the solution so he is conscious and mobile, yet weakened and disoriented?”

“I could do so, if I start working on it now. I cannot promise absolute efficiency, but I will try my best. Will this be part of your theater?”

The Red Skull smiled. “Yes. I shall see to the other preparations, but then we must trust that my dear Captain will play his role.” 

******

“Oh, bother,” spat Major Carter as she and Stiles arrived at the FBI blockade of the road to Sanderling Roost. She pulled the jeep over to the side of the road. “I am going to need you, Stiles, to stay here for a few minutes. I have to deal with your Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

Peggy did indeed have to deal with the FBI; Agent Fordham must have come up at some point, because she could see him there along with two other agents and Steve. What concerned her is the tell-tale damage to Steve’s uniform and the lack of McCall. While Stiles had impressed her with his perception and determination, she could feel the anxiety buzzing off him as they had driven along. She didn’t need a panicking teenager when she might have to get into a jurisdictional turf war.

“Yeah, I’m familiar with agents. I’ll wait.”

Peggy walked up purposefully to where Steve and the agents were standing. “Gentlemen, what’s the situation here?” She wished she could figure out a way to get Steve alone.

Agent Fordham, who knew he was in charge and whose first priority seemed to be to make everyone remember that he was in charge, spoke first. “According to the captain here, there are actually members of your Hydra organization on the grounds of the estate. They rescued the courier from our blockade.”

Steve glanced at her to stress the importance of his words. “That was not exactly my report, agent. I said that Hydra soldiers took the boy.”

Peggy knew better than to curse openly. “How close are we to getting him back?”

Fordham looked at the situation. “We can have a dozen agents up here by tomorrow along with a squad of soldiers. Tomorrow morning at the earliest.”

Peggy made eye contact with Steve, who shook his head. There were things they needed to talk about. “Can I get back to you, agent? I need to debrief Captain Rogers on the protocols for when we discover foreign hostile troops on American soil.” She headed back toward the jeep with Steve in tow, ignoring Fordham’s cries of protest. Of course, they’d try to make it about jurisdiction.

Steve muttered to her as he walked with her. “When you said enhanced, you weren’t kidding around. McCall’s a wolf man.”

“He’s not the only one,” she replied lightly. “What’s the chance that Schmidt and the _Jormungandr_ are not actually here?”

Steve looked a little shocked at her witty rejoinder, but he continued to speak. “Those weren’t wannabes, Peggy. They were elite Hydra troopers armed with Hydra’s deep-science weaponry. The Skull _has_ to be here.”

“But not for long. If that submarine, Johann Schmidt or Scott McCall are still here tomorrow, I'll eat your hat. We don’t have time to wait for reinforcements.” She gestured to the jeep. “The boy in my jeep is McCall’s best friend and a member of his werewolf pack. He pretty much blackmailed me into bringing him along, but I think it is for the best. He knows a great deal about these things.”

“Werewolf pack?” Steve asked incredulously. “Okay. I have to say, this is not what I expected to see in California.” 

Peggy brought Steve and introduced him to Stiles. She observed that as much as Stiles was impressed with Captain America, he was more focused on the task at hand. She also noted that he was anxious, but nowhere near overwhelmed. A shared glance with Steve showed her that he thought the same.

After a brief discussion, Stiles rubbed at his face and released a torrent of sarcasm. “So, to summarize what you’ve told me. Members of the Nazi Deep Science division, Hydra – which is a totally cool name, by the way, and it was totally inappropriate of me to say that right now – led by the evil version of Captain America have come to the home of an American seed magnate on an advanced submarine to kidnap my best friend for some strange but no doubt nefarious reason about which we have no real idea. The FBI – God bless ‘em – won’t be ready to move until tomorrow morning, though you think that means they'll be long gone.” He looked up at the sky. “I shouldn’t have left the pack behind.” 

Steve put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We may not know why Schmidt wants your friend, but I will do everything I can to stop him. That’s why I’m here.” He glanced at Peggy. “If they’re here, they won't leave until after nightfall. We need to start moving before then.” 

“I agree. I’d like to have more people to take down Schmidt and his troopers, so we’ll focus on freeing McCall.” She turns to Stiles. “You should take the jeep back to the nearest town.”

“Oh, no, no, no.” Stiles protested. “Don’t even think of leaving me behind. You need me! That brief rundown I gave you isn’t going to do much to help you figure out what they have planned. And that’s exactly what I’ve done for the last year: figure out things while people are trying to kill us.” He looked at both of them. “It really doesn’t matter, though. If you don’t take me with you, I’ll just go by myself. ”

Peggy put her hands on her hips. “Mr. Stilinski, I know that you are concerned for your friend, but you're a civilian. You’d be going up against seasoned troopers with weapons that could literally disintegrate you.” She knew that he was almost of an age where he could be called to fight, but he hadn’t been called, not yet.

“Major Carter, you know what’s dangerous? Hitting an alpha werewolf with a baseball bat is dangerous. Running from a kanima is dangerous. Taunting a psychotic elder hunter is dangerous. I’ve done all of that, and I know what I'm getting into. I also know that I ditched the pack to protect them, and if I hadn’t done that, they’d probably be here right now, and I wouldn’t need you two at all.” Stiles pointed at both her and Captain America. “But right now I do, because that guy in there is more than just my alpha; he’s my best friend. So I am going in there and getting him _with or without_ your assistance.”

“Major Carter,” Steve said. “Peggy. I don’t understand a third of what he just said, but I understand the feeling behind it. We could use him.”

Peggy gave Steve some pretty serious side-eye. “Right, then. You’ll do what we tell you when we tell you to do it or I’ll tie you to a tree. That’s the deal.”

“Deal,” Stiles answered loudly and then muttered under his breath. “Though I am really bad at doing what I am told. It's a habit.”

Captain America outlined a plan to both of them. “Now, I suggest we get into the jeep, we tell Fordham that we’re going for food, and then we drive to an access road I saw a mile back. We hide the jeep and then make our way overland. It should take us no more than an hour. Sound good, Major?”

Peggy looked over her shoulder. She’d really rather try to force the FBI to help them, but she knew time was running out. “Let’s go.” 

******

Even though the coast is closer to Beacon Hills than San Francisco as the crow flies, the way the roads are set up a driver would get to the big city long before they'd reach that part of the coast. If a driver wanted to drive to the coast directly west, they would have to loop either far to the south, or take narrow and twisting roads through the Mendocino Range. 

This meant that even though they had farther to go, Allison and the twins would arrive in San Francisco before the others reached their destination. It was a long and awkward trip. Though it was Scott’s decision not to drive the twins out of the city once they abandoned what remained of the Alpha pack, not everyone was comfortable with them. Over time, they had worked hard to become accepted members, though Isaac had remained opposed to it. Allison was indifferent, but she tended to act remotely with them because of her relationship with Isaac.

Allison knew that was why she felt awkward, and she guessed why they were acting awkwardly. She _was_ a werewolf hunter and the eventual Matriarch of the Argent family. That certainly could make formerly-murders alphas-turned-omegas-turned-betas nervous. She found herself appreciating that.

Allison drove the 1938 Ford Deluxe sedan down the roads to San Francisco. She had explained that the best approach would be to drop the twins off at the airport while she made calls to people who worked with the Argents in the city.

Ethan spoke up from the back seat. “This isn’t a complaint, but why do we think he won’t just try to drive somewhere? He has a car and a head start.”

“It's a legitimate question. We could be wasting our time, but if we assume minimal competence on his part, if he did decide to drive his way somewhere, we could never catch him. My family’s contacts might be eventually be able to find him, but they’re mostly focused on finding … people like you. “ She smiled and shrugged. “We're doing this because I am taking a guess, based on my training and what I know of Mr. Harris.”

Ethan looked out the window. “I never had Mr. Harris. Uhm, do you mind sharing why you think he’ll go to the airport?”

“Mr. Harris is suddenly rich; fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money. Mr. Harris used to live on the East Coast; he attended West Point. People tend, when fleeing, to go where they are comfortable. Driving across country is actually pretty tedious. Mr. Harris is also a pompous ass. I’m betting that he doesn’t think he should be made to drive. It’s what I have to go on.”

Ethan leaned back in the back seat, satisfied. “I certainly don’t have any better ideas.”

Aiden had taken the passenger seat in the front. He was always slightly more aggressive than Ethan. “So, are we going to have a problem afterwards?”

As with most of the pack, Allison liked Ethan a lot more than Aiden. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“We’re gonna kill this guy, Allison,” stated Aiden. “I’m not Stilinski’s biggest fan, but even I have to admit when he’s right. Harris has every reason to sell us out to the government and no reason at all not to do so if and when the G-men get him.” He tries to give her a glare. “Usually, your family isn’t really good with werewolves killing people.”

“I’ve actually thought about that,” Allison replied. “I don’t really have an answer, yet, mostly because I’m very angry. I try to think about these things without emotion. He’s a spy and a traitor and I have no idea why those Germans want Scott, but …” She gripped the steering wheel. “This is the type of decision I have to make.”

“Well,” groused Aiden, “I’d really like to know what you plan to do before we catch him, if we catch him.”

“This isn’t easy! I’ve learned that my family has procedures for dealing with government and law enforcement officials who learn of your existence. We don’t want people to know about you any more than you want people to know about you. We actually have people to take of this, through blackmail, bribery, or conversion into agents.” She sighed. “But Harris is not being hunted just by werewolves. He’s a Nazi spy, and while we have a lot of connections, we don’t have connections at that level.” 

“Then we kill him!” snapped Aiden. Ethan sighed in the back seat.

Allison rewarded Aiden with a look. “Maybe. We have to think about what this means for us. I’m going to be the Matriarch one day, and you want to redeem yourselves, don’t you? You want to have a place where you don’t have to kill innocent people, and I need people to trust my judgment without being as ruthless as my grandfather.”

“He’s not innocent,” Aiden argued. “He’s a threat to all of us, not just me and Ethan. We volunteered to do this because we’ve killed people before.”

Allison responded with the same vehemence. “You’ve killed werewolves and you’ve killed hunters in combat. You’ve never executed someone.” At the twins’ startled response to that, she continued. “What? You didn’t think my Dad and I would do all the research we could once Scott let you stay? If you had killed innocent humans, things would have been different.”

Ethan sat back in the seat. “Okay. I suppose that makes sense. Then what do you think we should do?”

“I think we should find him, and if we can, we capture him.” She looked over at Aiden. “And if we can’t capture him, we do what we have to. But if we do capture him, I’ll call in my people and see what we can do. If we don’t have any way of keeping him secure and quiet, if that doesn’t work …”

“If that doesn’t work,” prompted Aiden.

“If that doesn’t work, I’ll take care of him myself.”

Allison was serious. She was dedicated to altering the Code, and she knew it would take time. She would actually see to it that everyone was protected. Maybe Ethan and Aiden were murderers, but Scott wasn’t and Isaac wasn’t and while Malia and Jackson had murdered, they were deserving of protection. She wasn't going to let a piece of human garbage ruin their lives.

Aiden looked nettled. “Probably for the best. Killing people at an airport would draw a lot of attention that we don’t want. I wish you had said something about capturing him before; I could have gone after Scott.”

“Aiden, don’t be such a dick,” Ethan had had enough. “You don’t have to play tough guy any more. We’re pack, and we’re in a pack that doesn’t care about how tough you are.” 

Aiden shot his brother a glare and then settled down in his seat. Allison didn’t look at him, but she knew what this was about. Scott had told her that he was worried about Aiden feeling useless. Ethan had Danny, and now that Lydia and Jackson were back together, Aiden was on the outside. It wasn’t really her problem.

“I need you here. Do you know how much territory an airport is? You two have the training and skill to hunt him down. The rest of the pack are my friends, but you’ve been hardened by battle.” It was not exactly true, but it was not exactly false. “You don’t think I’d rather be up north with the others? But Harris cannot get away. We have to stop him.”

The Ford pulled into San Francisco Municipal Airport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the Argent's car: http://www.hemmings.com/classifieds/cars-for-sale/ford/model-81a/1749653.html
> 
> Until the 1950s, San Francisco International Airport was called the San Francisco Municipal Airport.
> 
> I always wondered how the Argent Code (the old one) would deal with a threat to revealing the existence of werewolves when they couldn't be bought or intimidated. Would they kill a human to protect their secrets?


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain America, Peggy Carter, and Stiles infiltrate Sanderling Roost to stop the Red Skull from carrying Scott and the Wolf's Crown off. However, Hydra's leader has his own plan to force Scott to work for him, and it depends on Captain America's presence.

MARCH 20, 1943 (Continued)

Steve felt relieved as he, Peggy and Stiles moved through the underbrush. His earlier scouting had paid off; he had a clear idea how they could get close to the main house of Sanderling Roost with a minimal chance of being seen. Peggy had always been better at stealth than he was, though he had learned how to move quietly when he had to. It was a pleasant surprise that no matter how twitchy Stiles was when he was relaxed, when he was focused on being unobserved, he could move pretty quietly himself. 

He told Stiles as much during a hushed conversation when they took a brief rest before entering the estate grounds proper. “Really? I knew that Derek was just being a jerk when he called me an elephant. His lurking skills must have rubbed off on me.” 

They decided that they had to go to the main house first. While the other buildings could be where they were keeping their prisoner, the chance that an outside could casually observe Hydra troopers were too great. Schmidt would want his own people looking over his prize. 

They remained quiet as they got to the side of the house. Steve began to grow concerned; he caught Peggy’s eye and knew she shared his disquiet. He had been congratulating himself on a stealthy approach to the estate, but they had not had to stop once to avoid the eyes of either the Hydra troopers or the Barker estate staff. Schmidt knew that he was here, Steve reasoned. He’d at least have put the estate at higher alert. Either they had already left, which was going to be a disaster or …

Steve turned to Peggy as they reached the eaves of the main house and mouthed the word ‘Trap?’

Peggy nodded back at him. ‘Trap.’

They found a large cellar door that was the end of a utility drive. It was obviously designed to allow for a large delivery. It was secured by a heavy chain and a padlock. Peggy pulled out her picks that she carried, but Stiles reached out and took them. He whispered, “You two look like you want to talk. Let me get this.”

Steve assumed that Stiles knew what he was doing and drew Peggy aside, backs flat against the house in the twilight. “I don’t like this.” 

“Either they are already gone, which is terrible, or he’s waiting for us,” Peggy replied. “I’d feel a lot more confident about making this call if I knew what Schmidt’s exact interest was in McCall. Since I don’t, I have to say that Schmidt wouldn’t take the risk to come here for something unimportant. We need to go in.”

Steve nodded agreement and pointed soundlessly at Stiles, who had just got the padlock open with a little flourish of achievement.

“He’s not a soldier; you won’t be able to order him not to come. You can’t stop loyalty like that. He has skills and knowledge we need and he is going in anyway; keeping him with us is safer for him and us.” She turned and drew her gun. “After you.” 

Steve did indeed lead the way; he was faster, tougher and he had an indestructible shield, so it was essentially common sense that he went first. Peggy came up just behind him and Stiles followed, thinking clearly enough to close the doors behind them, even though it left them in the dark. Light from an entrance to a hallway gave enough illumination for them to navigate this basement, which seemed to be used for furniture storage. 

Steve poked his head out into the hallway quickly. The hallway’s corridor was long and brightly lit. He could hear people moving around in one of the rooms off of it. He watched as two men left one of the rooms, carrying a wooden rack; that was the best way he could describe the object. It must have been made of heavy wood because it was not easy for the Hydra troopers to lift, all of one piece and about five feet on each side. He could not be sure what it was, but if Hydra was taking it, he wanted to know for sure. Motioning for Peggy and Stiles to stay, he crept down the hall and into the room where the two troopers had come from. It was empty of people, but full of things that he could not explain. He stuck a hand out and motioned for the pair to come to him. 

Peggy and Stiles sprinted from the darkened room to the cell. While they were coming, Steve figured out that the wooden rack was actually one side of a cell. In addition to the rest of the cell, there was also a narrow bed with medical equipment next to it, including an intravenous stand. The set-up confused Steve, but the moment he saw Stiles’ face, he knew it wasn’t good.

“Son of a bitch.” Stiles tried to use anger in his voice to cover up his anxiety, but he failed. The timbre was closer to fear, the type of fear when you find out that the enemy is stronger than you thought.

“Less cursing,” Steve admonished, “and more sharing.”

“The wood is rowan, also known as mountain ash.” Stiles said quietly. “Many supernatural creatures can’t touch or cross a barrier of activated mountain ash. Scott can, but it takes a great deal of effort. Getting out of a cage like this would exhaust him.” 

Peggy smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was a ‘Schmidt wouldn’t leave this behind’ smile. “Can you find anything else?” She gestures at the medical equipment. 

Stiles went over to the IV, squirted some from the tube and sniffed it. “Great. It’s an aconite solution. That’s wolfsbane, just like Harris’s bullets, ma’am.” He turned around. “I don’t know the concentration. It’s poisonous to humans but really, really poisonous to werewolves. There are different types which have different effects; the same type might have different effects at different concentrations. Effects range from death at the high end to hallucinations and disorientation at the lower level.”

Steve and Peggy were giving Stiles the type of look they gave Howard when he was rattling on about his newest invention. Stiles was suddenly self-conscious. “Most of my friends are werewolves; I need to know this stuff, all right?”

Peggy looked at Steve. He could tell she was filing the information away for later use. “We need to follow those two when they come back. They’ll lead us right to McCall. Back into the basement.”

Steve nodded; he had already thought that was the best approach. He gave them some more instructions as they went back in. “When we go, we follow at the maximum distance, but we don’t stop. We get tied down, we’ll lose our chance.”

They waited in the shadows until the men came back. Steve kept an eye on the situation, waiting like a coiled spring to go after them. He saw Peggy looking almost bored; he knew she had much more experience in these situations. Stiles was not having the best time; he was quiet, but he was fidgeting. He looked like he wanted to run off right now to find his friend. Steve understood that; he always felt that way about Bucky. He rested a hand on the teen’s shoulder in support. Patience was going to be a virtue in this scenario.

It may have seemed like hours, but it was only ten minutes when the Hydra troopers came back to pick up the next section of the cage. They had already disassembled the hard part, so it only took a few minutes before the pair of troopers started carting another section down the hallway. Steve motioned for Peggy and Stiles to follow him.

It tended to be easier to follow people who were actually engaged in a task. As long as you didn’t get too close and make too much noise, you could get pretty far without being noticed. He kept his shield up, just in case there were guards where they were going. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stiles grab Peggy’s arm and then make a gesture, his hand sliding down in a diagonal motion. He was right. The hallway was beginning to decline. Steve paid a bit more attention to his surroundings and realized that the hallway’s orientation put it parallel to the shorter sides of the rectangular layout of the house above. The hallway, in other words, was longer than the actual building. 

Steve realized where they were going. Some form of underground location, probably bordering the ocean. He had missed it when he was scouting out the estate earlier. He gestured for Peggy and the boy to hang back a bit, as he saw the entrance up ahead and there didn’t seem to be many places to hide. 

He ducked his head into the room and did a quick scan. He didn’t think he was spotted, and there was no immediate outcry, but even so, the situation was not good. As he suspected, an underground grotto had been turned into a boat dock; the style of the construction indicated it must have predated their involvement with international conspiracies. The dock and the railings were decorative, but it wasn’t cute any more. At the end of the dock was a motorboat on which the cage was being loaded. Standing at that end was an older woman that Cap didn’t recognize and Johann Schmidt. He had his false face on, which Steve preferred. The Red Skull’s red skull always squicked him out. 

Standing about twenty feet from the end of the dock and the boat was McCall. He was being held by two Hydra troopers, but he had felt the kid’s strength before. They couldn’t hold him, but it was obviously the advanced Hydra rifle being pointed in his face that was keeping him under control. In addition, McCall was sweating and breathing heavily, his eyes glowing with their strange red.

There were two other Hydra troopers closer to this end of the dock, armed with submachine guns. Still dangerous, but he knew what he had here was a hostage situation. His primary focus had to be to free the hostage. He dodged back in and whispered the information to both Peggy and Stiles.

Stiles made a face as his friend was described to him. “Yeah, he’s drugged. I can’t tell you how he’s going to react.” 

Peggy turned to the teen. “Do you think he’ll recognize you?” 

“Yeah. No matter how screwed up he is, we’re still pack.” Stiles tried to sound very confident even while whispering. 

Steve nodded. “Then this is what we are going to do.” He pulled his gun. “I’ll start by getting that gun out of his face. Hopefully, he’ll start fighting, while I run down the dock to help free him. Peggy, you concentrate on the guards at this end, while Stiles you try to get him to come to you, okay? Stiles find cover.”

They moved as close as they could, and then Steve held up a fist. One finger. Two finger. Three fingers. Go.

******

The Red Skull was beginning to get bored with the situation when a round shield bounced off the roof of the grotto and sliced off the front of the cannon held on his prisoner. _Ahhh, right on time, Captain._ He drew his hand-held plasma gun and turned to Dr. Woltzmann-Barker next to him. “Madam Doctor, please get in the boat. As the Americans say, it’s show time.”

The female scientist was ruthless and cool under pressure, but she was not a warrior. She did not argue but simply did as she was told. She would make a fine member of his organization. 

As predicted, Captain Rogers was rushing down the dock towards them, while one of his guards at the doorway was down from what seemed to be a woman firing a pistol. She and a young man were hiding behind some of the boating supplies at the end of the dock. He could discount them for the time being. The werewolf, with the cannon out of his face, was acting aggressively but not effectively, tossing one of the men holding him into the water. Schmidt spoke in German: “You two handle the costumed fool. Leave the monster to me.” Switching to English, he taunted, “Surely, alpha, you can do better than that?” 

Things were proceeding as he had planned. Captain America had scooped up his shield and was making quick work of his men, while his backup had been pinned down by his men off the dock. The werewolf charged toward him, enraged. The combination of the boy’s anger, the drugs coursing through his system and his failure to understand that he was fighting a superior individual led him to overextend himself. Grabbing the boy by the back of his head, he slammed him face first into one of the dock’s post, breaking his nose and staggering him even more. 

From behind the crates where the woman was engaged in a fire fight with his man, the young man stood up and shouted “Scott!” but the woman pulled him down before he could be shot. 

“You have strength, boy, but you lack experience in fighting an opponent like me,” Schmidt explained as he pulled the werewolf up by his hair and put an arm around his throat. “Now, if you want to survive this, you’ll stop struggling. You may survive a bullet to the head, but not a shot from this gun.” He placed the barrel of the pistol up against the teen’s temple. 

The werewolf was drugged and angry, but he wasn’t suicidal. He stopped moving, placing one hand, claws out, on Schmidt’s arm. 

“Captain!” the Red Skull called out. “Please stop beating up my men and remain where you are, unless you are willing to sacrifice this young man. Your allies as well will cease. My men will also cease firing.” 

The American super soldier paused and took a step back from his outmatched men. “What are you thinking, Schmidt? If you kill him, I’ll make sure you never leave these shores.” 

“That is a risk that I am prepared to take, Captain Rogers. Are you?” Schmidt chuckled to himself. He could see the fear creeping behind the other soldier’s eyes. Such weakness. How could they expect to win the war if they couldn’t sacrifice their own?

His men knew what they had to do. They got to their feet and limped back to the boat where Dr. Woltzmann-Barker was waiting for them. His enemy’s two allies left their cover and stood at the end of the dock. At the sight of the young man, his captive struggled and he tightened his grip. “That would be unwise …” Schmidt understood now; according to Harris’s reports, this was the alpha’s best friend. This was going to be too easy.

Rogers glared at him. “I’ll do what I have to, but I don’t need to hide behind others to get my way, Schmidt.” He shifted his shield slightly. “I also don’t see what you hope to get out of this, Schmidt.”

“That is because, as usual, Captain, you suffer from a lack of vision. What I hope to get out of this little confrontation are the answers to a few questions that will be very important to young Herr McCall here.” The werewolf actually growled at him; this was delightful. “When I have the answers I need, all will be revealed.”

He heard the motor boat start behind him. Excellent. He had well trained soldiers. At the end of the dock, the woman – Major Carter now that he had time to look at her – was holding the other young man back by his arm. “Here is the first question. So, young man, cell or cage?”

Confusion reigned in Rogers’ eyes and McCall grunted in his grip. 

“You do not understand? Your future here in America is one of those two destinations, depending on whether you reveal your true nature to the authorities. You cannot escape dealing with them, whether or not you manage to capture me. If you manage to conceal yourself, you’ll be a spy, working with the notorious Nazi super soldier. If you do capture me, I will make that perfectly clear to my interrogators. I will wax poetic about the benefits of your assistance. If you do not capture me, you’ll become one of the scapegoats to cover the FBI’s incompetence. I did notice they are not part of the raid. So, you will find yourself in a cell.” He could feel the werewolf still beneath his arm.

“I won’t let that happen, Schmidt.” Rogers vowed. 

“Yes, I am sure you will be able to do a lot about it in Europe, Captain,” sneered the Skull. “But even if your heroic soldier kept his word to defend you, would he be willing to keep your secret? Would he be willing not to tell his superiors what you are? After all, there had to be a reason the Nazis were interested in you, eh?” 

There was a whispered conversation down the dock. The major and the boy were talking, but the boy was looking right at his werewolf captive as he was speaking. 

“So, if you do not end up in a cell, you will end up in a cage. That’s where they put monsters, don’t they?” Schmidt felt the boy’s body tense beneath his grip. The clawed hand gripped his arm so hard that they poked through his uniform sleeve and drew blood. It was a small price to pay to humiliate Rogers. 

“They won’t do that,” protested Rogers. He was a fool. 

McCall whispered in a choked voice to the Captain; only he and Rogers could have heard it. “You’re lying.” Schmidt smiled, coldly. The boy wasn’t talking about what he had said; everything was going as planned.

“Won’t they, Captain? In Los Angeles, people who look just like this boy are being beat up because they wear the wrong type of clothing, and not a single authority stops them! In his own city, people are kept in a prison because their grandparents were born in the wrong country!” He chuckled and directed his words back to the werewolf. “If normal human beings can’t get justice from your government, why would it give it to a creature like you? So, boy, cell or cage?”

The werewolf snarled. “I don’t care. I won’t do what you want me to do, so let me go.” 

All of his opponents, at least the ones that didn’t have a gun to their head, relaxed at McCall’s statement. Schmidt gloated; how foolish they were to think he had played all his cards. “All I want you to do is embrace your destiny,” said Schmidt. He tightened the grip on the boy’s throat. “I am not surprised from what I’ve learned that you would let yourself be imprisoned by people too weak to see your potential. I am surprised, however, that you would put your – what is it called – ah, yes! I am surprised that an alpha would place his pack in the same dire straits.”

With a great deal of pleasure, he watched the realization of his threat settle on the features of his opponents. The fear was even stronger than he had ever hoped, especially for teen called Stiles. “That’s right. You delivered all the reports that Mr. Harris wrote to us, so now I know everything he knows, and so will my agents in the United States. I know about the murderers, the perverts, and the freaks you call your pack. I know how many people your pack has killed. What do you think will happen when my agents reveal this information to the authorities?” 

The werewolf looked at Rogers. Schmidt imagined the pleading in the teen’s eyes. At the end of the dock, the other young man was whispering in their direction. Schmidt didn’t have time to try to read his lips. 

“What will happen to the girl who can hear death’s approach? The shamed hunter? The feral child? The killers seeking redemption? The ex-lizard – however that works – drowning in blood? The sheriff who covered it all up?” The Red Skull laughed right in the boy’s ear. “My men will place all the information in the right hands, and they’ll all have cells or cages of their very own. But don’t take my word for it – Captain America is standing right there. He can contradict me at any time. He can promise to stop my agents; he can assure you that what I have described won’t happen.”

Before Rogers could answer him, the werewolf shook his head and spoke not to him or Rogers, but to the other teen at the end of the dock. It was more of a growl. “I can’t think. I need a Plan B, Stiles.”

Rogers took another step forward. “Look, Schmidt knows I can’t promise anything. Major Carter can’t promise anything. It doesn’t work like that, as much as I wished it didn’t. But no matter how bad things could get, doing what this Nazi bastard wants isn’t going to be any better.”

“Oh, Captain,” sneered Schmidt. McCall had split his attention between his friend and Rogers. “I thought you would at least attempt to lie. So, here is the deal, monster. You and I are getting on this boat, and they are staying right here. You will make sure of that. As long as you behave, your pack is safe from Hydra.”

“Okay,” said the werewolf. “Okay. I’ll do it.” He shook the Schmidt’s arm off. “We’re going now. I don’t want to fight you, but I will if I have to.”

Rogers looked stricken. “I can’t let you go. You can’t trust him.” 

The werewolf shouted. “I can’t trust you!” He lunged forward and put both hands on the shield, pushing the other super soldier back nearly twenty feet. 

Schmidt used his pistol to keep Captain America at bay as he moved back toward the boat. Between the pair of them, Rogers couldn't get close. If he paid too much attention to the werewolf, he'd be shot. If he dodged the gun, the werewolf would be all over him. At the rear of the room, Schmidt saw that Stiles had grabbed Major Carter by the arm. Taking the opportunity, Schmidt motioned for McCall to jump down into the boat and he followed after. 

The motor boat sped away and Rogers ran up to the edge of the boat, disappointment in his face. Schmidt smiled to himself; Rogers was a fool but not so big a fool that he would try to defeat him and McCall on a speeding motor boat. This trip had netted him the Wolf’s Crown, the alpha he needed to use it, and the beginning of a glorious revenge upon Captain America. It had all been worth it, after all.

******

Steve came back. “Damn it.” He was angry at the total failure of the mission. The Skull had gotten away with his prize. 

Stiles shook his head. “It was a done deal. You’re not going to get a drugged-up alpha to do something that would hurt his pack. It’s not just reason you would be fighting against; it’s instinct and a powerful one. And, if that wasn’t the worst, Harris was a really good spy; if Scott has a flaw it’s his tendency to want to sacrifice himself for others. He’s done it before.” 

“You don’t seem that upset about it,” remarked Peggy. “You were whispering to McCall to trust you.”

“I’ve got something better than just getting upset.” Stiles replied. “I’ve got a Plan B. You guys ever hear of something called a Nemeton?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Red Skull refers to the Zoot Suit Riots in Los Angeles. White servicemen and civilians attacked Latino men for wearing zoot suits, which were considered unpatriotic due to the amount of fabric they used. The reference to being imprisoned because of the country their parents were born in refers, of course, to Japanese-American internment.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack confronts Stiles in the forest after Scott's kidnapping. Peggy and Steve learn that Hydra's interest in Scott is due to the Wolf's Crown. Stiles takes Steve and Peggy to see Deaton to learn more about the Crown.

MARCH 20, 1943 (Continued)

If he had been any of his other friends, Stiles would be beyond bored and frustrated by now. He wasn’t, because he had been witness to a sufficient number of territorial pissing matches between his father and other law enforcement officers. The FBI was furious that the SSR had gone into the estate without them, while Major Carter was unrepentant that she had done so. Her argument was simple: If they had waited until the next day, they would have found nothing.

Stiles leaned up against their jeep in the dark as the argument took place on the grounds of the Roost; he thought it was going pretty well, considering. Major Carter knew how to handle angry law enforcement. If they ever had some time to talk again, he would probably ask her about her experiences. Steve, on the other hand, was tense and angry standing next to him. He was taking it personally. 

Stiles had to laugh. Captain America turned to him and said: “What?”

“Uhm. This is your first go-round with jurisdiction?” He felt oddly relaxed. 

“I guess so. It seems to be …” Steve shrugged. “Why would you spend so much time fighting about who had the right to stop criminals and enemies first? We could be trying to figure out their next move.”

Stiles looked at the conflict. “The thing you have to remember is that no matter how talented or untalented a police man you are, no one goes into law enforcement to watch other people catch the bad guys. There might be a few policemen who are selfish pigs who only joined for the ability to beat people up and cash a moderately large paycheck, but that’s a small percentage. Most of them go into it thinking – I’m here to help people. Then they get to watch someone else screw up their cases or take the credit for the collar.”

“Does it matter who takes credit?”

“Turns out it does. It matters for retention, for promotion, for budget. You don’t crack enough cases, you won’t have a job, you certainly won’t get promoted, and some bureaucrat is going to argue that if someone else can resolve your cases, you don’t need that much money to do the job. My dad has to get elected; he knows that if the public thinks that FBI has to bail him out on any big case, people are going to wonder if he is right for the position.” 

Stiles gestured at the gaggle of G-men from the San Francisco office. “One of those poor schleps is going to have to write a report to their boss about how the SSR found Nazi spies and actual German troops in California while the Bureau put two men watching a road. His boss is going to have to send that report to his boss who is going to have to send it to his boss and all the way up the ladder to J. Edgar. The more he can make it out that you and Major Carter were ignoring proper procedure, the less chance that his next posting will be in the Alaskan tundra.”

Cap glanced over at the argument where Major Carter was reading some agent the riot act. “I didn’t really think about it that way. The military is different, I guess.”

“Not going to say it’s easier, but I suspect it might be simpler when everyone can agree that the other side is trying to kill you. I know it’s simpler for me.”

“You’ve had a lot of things try to kill you?” Cap smiled.

“Not for six months. Wow. It’s really been six months?” At the hero’s raised eyebrow, Stiles went on. “Last year was really exciting, in an Oh-God, Oh-God-we’re-all-going-to-die way. I’m suppose I shouldn’t be complaining – you’ve been in the middle of an actual war.” 

Cap laughed grimly. “The exact details don’t really matter if someone trying to kill you. It’s terrifying no matter where you are.”

Before Stiles could go on, there was a single howl in the forest. Everyone gathered at the entrance to Sanderling Roost stopped and listened. “Probably a coyote,” one of the FBI guys said.

“Oh, crackers.” Stiles slid off the jeep and looked around at the forest. “How the heck did they get here?”

“Not a coyote?” The captain asked.

“Yep, it is,” Stiles answer, keeping his voice low. “But also, my girlfriend. That means the pack’s here; she doesn’t have a car, and she can’t run that fast.” 

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

Stiles scowled out at the night-darkened forest. “I’m going to have to explain how I let Scott get kidnapped by Nazis. I have a plan, but . . . I don’t know how they’ll react.”

“Aren’t they your friends?”

“It’s not …” Stiles bit his lip. “We’re all friends, but they’re his betas. Protecting their alpha is instinctual. It’s not really something they’ll have a great deal of control over.” He was hoping that not all of them had come. With Scott gone, there wouldn’t be any way to calm them down if they lost it. He also wasn’t sure sometimes if all of them were actually his friends. 

“Want me to come with you? I can explain the situation.” 

“No, thank you, Captain.” Stiles suddenly remembered he was hanging out with a superhero, and he suddenly blushed. “But, it was my call. I wanted to protect the pack from the government – I thought you SSR people were here to capture werewolves. I can explain it to them. I’ll be back.”

Stiles walked off. If he waited any longer, the pack might come for him, thinking he was in trouble. If he waited any longer, he might take Captain America’s offer up. He wasn’t looking forward to doing this by himself, but the point was to protect them from the government and, superhero or not, Captain America was part of the government.

He walked off into the forest, and while he wasn’t sure which direction he should be going, he knew they would find him. Sure enough, Malia found him sooner than anyone else. She came up to him with a concerned look on her face and backed him up against a tree.

He understood what she was doing. She was using all her senses to see if he was injured or sick. It was very intimate and he had had to explain to her that if someone saw her doing it in public, people would talk. “You could have asked me if I was okay.” He complained but without much heat.

“You would have said you were fine, even if you weren’t.” She sniffed. “I smell gunpowder and the ocean. What happened?” 

“I don’t do that; I don’t say I’m fine when I’m not,” Stiles protested. 

“Yeah, you do. Tell me what happened.”

Stiles sighed. “Who is with you? I don’t really want to explain my incredible failure more than once. I’ve got my pride.” 

“Isaac, Lydia, and Jackson. Jackson drove.” She gestures with her head back. “They sent me ahead, because I’m the best at sneaking in the woods.” 

“That you are.” He wasn’t just shooting lip service; she had the best woodcraft of all of them, thought that wasn’t surprising in the least given her history. “Where are Allison and the No-Longer-Evil Twins?” 

“They went after Harris.” She bit her lip. “They volunteered. Where’s Scott?”

Stiles looked down at the twigs and stones lying on the dirt. “In trouble, but take me to the others.” Again, he certainly wasn’t looking forward to this.

She led him through the forest, explaining they had parked on a side road. He couldn’t see a damn thing until they got close enough to see the headlights. Lydia was standing in front of the car, framed by the lights and waiting patiently for them to return. Jackson was lounging in the driver’s seat, the door hanging open. Isaac was pacing. Stiles took a deep breath; Isaac would have to be the one to watch out for.

Lydia spoke first. “You had best have a very good explanation why you ditched us to run off with the military, Stiles Stilinksi.” At her words, Isaac stopped pacing and clenched his fist. “Though, you had best start off with what you know, or I think that Isaac’s going to lose it.”

Stiles took a deep breath. “Short version. Mr. Harris essentially sold Scott to a Nazi organization called Hydra. I don’t know why they want him, and I tried to get him out, but … I failed.” There was no other way to say it. “Scott’s been drugged and blackmailed, and he’s on a submarine to Germany.”

Their reactions were about as he expected. Lydia did not say anything; her brow creased in thought. While she had come a long way from the self-centered but secretly insecure Queen Bee of her sophomore year, she had never lost the rather useful trait of calculation. Stiles could tell she was simultaneously thinking of the possible ways to mount a rescue and managing the consequences should no rescue be possible. Her only show of emotion was to scowl at him, which he totally deserved.

Jackson let out an “Oh, shit,” in response. He was trying to look moderately unconcerned in the driver’s seat, but it was pretty feeble. He looked between Stiles and Lydia; he obviously had no idea what to do. 

Malia was not as concerned as the others, though it wasn’t out of disinterest. Stiles wondered if she didn’t understand the danger posed by the Nazis. She knew the word well enough, she knew that they were fighting a war, but she still was a stranger to a lot of context. She did know that people were upset and that he was upset, and so she put a hand on his arm to comfort him.

Isaac had been the person he was the most worried about. “You did this,” Isaac growled, pointing a finger at Stiles. “You left us behind on purpose. If it weren’t for Allison, we’d still be back in Beacon Hills, wondering what was going on.”

Stiles thought about trying to lie for a moment. Everyone’s heart rate was probably rabbiting at the news; he could pass off an uptick with the terror-inducing facts of what exactly was going on. He was feeling guilty though, and there’s nothing like the self-flagellation of the truth. “I did. I was trying to protect you. I knew there were going to be government agents here, so I thought …”

“You were trying to protect us? How protected are we now?” Isaac was very angry. “What about Scott? He’s gone. You know that, right? He’s gone. He might as well be dead. You might just be human,” he sneered, “but you know what happens to a werewolf pack without its alpha.”

Lydia turned suddenly and looked at Isaac, her scowl switching targets like a machine gunner in a nest. Malia reacted to the venom in the beta’s words with a growl. Isaac ignored both of them.

“I know,” said Stiles quietly. He knew that Isaac was just trying to get under his skin and he knew he was succeeding. “You think I wanted this to happen?”

“I think that even after all this time, you still resent that Scott’s got friends other than you. You resent that he has a pack. I think that you’re still so desperate for him to be _just_ yours that you wanted to rescue him all by himself, proving to him that you’re his best friend.” Isaac started moving forward and the hostility was so intense that Stiles took a step back and Malia grew her claws. “You were protecting us? Right. You’re so insecure that you would risk him to make yourself feel special. Well, now none of us have him. Satisfied?”

“You know what, Isaac? Go to hell.” Stiles knew this was partially motivated by instinct but he also knew there had always been a festering resentment. “You don’t have to believe me, but the only thing I wanted was to protect you guys the way Scott would want me to. And I may be jealous that I’m not really pack, but at least I don’t follow him around and scavenge his ex-girlfriends!”

Lydia pinched the bridge of her nose as if the world had disappointed her once again. “Boys.”

Isaac took one step forward and pushed Stiles back. It wasn’t at full strength, but it was enough to send him flying back into the tree. It was going to leave a bruise. Malia and Isaac squared off, claws out, shifted faces, anger at recent events directed at each other. Even Jackson realized that things were spinning out of control and tried to scramble out of the car to break it up.

It turned out that Jackson didn’t need to intervene because someone else did. A shield bounced off two trees and buried itself about three feet above Stiles head. “I know you are going through a difficult time right now, but turning on each other isn’t going to help anything.” 

From his sitting position at the base of the tree, Stiles groused. “You guys are terrible werewolves. Uhm, so this is Captain America.” He pulled himself up. “These are … members of the pack.”

Isaac and Malia left off their confrontation to stare at the newcomer. Jackson looked super nervous; he always was the most careful of his identity. 

“Your short version, Stiles, left off some interesting details,” the banshee observed quietly, sizing the superhero up.

“You told me that you didn’t want me to come, Stiles,” said the Captain, “not that I shouldn’t come. Look, I have no idea about what how your people work or what this means to you. But I do know that I saw two very brave men today. One of them gave up his freedom to protect the people whom he leads, and the other entered an enemy encampment unarmed to rescue another. Maybe some decisions were mistakes, but the important thing is that you stick together.” 

Stiles had to admit that leadership was a skill he did not think he would ever master. Some people had it when they needed it, like Scott, but some people were able to change the entire tenor of the situation by speaking. Steve Rogers was one such person. 

Jackson reacted to the speech with a shrug, but Stiles could tell that it stuck. “Well, what do we do now?” He looked at Isaac.

Stiles reacted to that on two levels. On the intellectual, reasonable level – he could be reasonable when he wanted to be – he knew that this was only right that the chain of command would shift. On the emotional level, he felt cold. He felt a little like crying. Jackson looked at Isaac; Lydia slid her eyes right off of him to the beta. Even Malia kept flicking her gaze back and forth between him and Isaac.

He was no longer Scott’s second. This was the price of failure.

Isaac was looking at the Captain, but when he realized people were looking at him, he stared at the ground. Stiles knew that Isaac was very uncomfortable right now, but sometimes you have to make decisions whether you want to or not. “We go home. We make a plan to bring him back.” 

Stiles looked at the Captain. “I’ll have to come back later. I’m guessing the FBI still wants to talk to me.” Steve nodded to him. 

Isaac looked at him and his eyes flashed their gold. “Fine. When you do get back, you’re going to tell us _everything_.”

Stiles nodded, he would. Malia stood up since they were no longer fighting; she had been the least impressed by the Captain’s speech. “I can stay with you.” She might not understand the reasons behind his feeling bad, but she could always tell.

“No, go home. I’ll be back soon, I promise.” He kissed her on the forehead and she reluctantly went with the rest. Lydia, too, gave him a knowing look but got into the car with the others. 

The car drove off with the rest of the pack, while he stood and watched him. 

“You had a plan,” said the captain. “You didn’t want to share it with them?” 

“They don’t trust me right now,” he replied. “They never trusted me much in the past; Scott trusted me. I was Second because he wanted me to be. Can you blame them for not trusting me anymore?” 

They started walking back towards where the FBI was probably still arguing with Major Carter. “I don’t know your history. I think that, given what you told me, they’re just upset.”

Stiles shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. There’s only one thing that matters right now.” 

The captain nodded in response and left him alone. Stiles appreciated that.

Major Carter looked a year older when they finally caught back up to her. “Well, I’ve been able to attend some interviews with the suspects that have been arrested. They’ve been coached.”

“Will we be able to interrogate them?” Captain America asked.

“Not without FBI presence.” She looked like she wanted to punch someone. “And they don’t seem to know much. Stiles,” Major Carter grabbed his arm and took him out of earshot. “I did get something, but I can’t make much out of it. I’m hoping you can.”

“I’ll do my best, ma’am.” Stiles believe he couldn’t be doing much worse.

“According to one of the lesser coached maids, the Barkers made a big deal over something called the Wolf’s Crown?” She asked. “The maid didn’t know if it was connected to Hydra, but it is supposedly a magical artifact? Apparently, one of Barker’s mother’s ancestors was something called an Emissary and created it.”

Stiles sighed in relief. “I don’t know anything about the Wolf’s Crown,” he explained, “but I know someone who certainly would. Our pack’s Emissary.”

At their expressions, he continued. “Most werewolf packs have an Emissary. They’re advisors to the alpha, helping him or her manage the pack and helping them live in the human world. We need to go back to Beacon Hills. The Wolf’s Crown has to be the reason they were here.”

 

MARCH 21, 1943

The next morning, Peggy and Steve picked up Stiles at his house early Sunday morning. “Don’t worry,” Stiles said, “my Dad knows what happened now. If you need anything you can go to him.” He looked at Peggy. “He wants you to come over tonight, if you have time, so he can apologize for deceiving you.”

“That won’t be necessary, Stiles,” said Peggy. “I know the importance of keeping secrets.”

“Please come anyway. My Dad will be put out if you don’t.” He looked at Steve, who was dressed in regular army kit and nodded to himself.

“That’s an animal hospital,” said Steve, as if he can’t believe it. “He’s a veterinarian?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “He loves that joke. He loves it. I got to warn you, it took me a long time to figure out that part of an Emissary’s training is protecting the secrets of the supernatural world. He’ll tell you exactly what you need to know and not one syllable more. In some packs, only the alpha knows the Emissary’s identity. If he doesn’t want you to know something, he’ll say something super vague and cryptic. I want to punch him like all the time.”

Peggy smiled reassuringly. “No offense, Stiles, but he’s not the only person trained in espionage. He’s waiting for us?”

Peggy thought that the neat, tidy animal hospital was oddly comforting, as was the veterinarian himself: a handsome bald man of indeterminate age with a calm disposition. 

Stiles introduced them and explained the situation with Scott and HYDRA. Peggy kept quiet during the explanation. She noticed two things. First, Stiles had a talent for extracting details from a situation. He made several deductions with the information that they have gathered that he must have analyzed himself. Second, that while the veterinarian, Dr. Deaton, was someone practiced in emotional control, he did have his tells. As the danger to the young alpha was explained, his stance stiffened and the eyes tightened, almost imperceptibly. He might not be willing to admit, but Peggy knew he cared a great deal about Scott McCall.

When they get to the Wolf’s Crown, Dr. Deaton startled. “If this is true, if this Schmidt person has the crown and is able to somehow force Scott to obey him that is extraordinarily bad news.”

Stiles looked at them and then back at the vet. “We kinda figured that, but could you explain why?”

“The Crown was a mistake; its creation is used as a teaching example for people like me of the dangers of meddling too much with the packs in our care. Has Stiles told you about how pack bonds work?”

Before Peggy could answer, Stiles jumped in. “Only a little. I, uhm, didn’t want to share secrets that I shouldn’t have. No offense, ma’am.”

Peggy shook her head. “No offense taken. I can completely understand why you wanted to keep things hidden.” 

“An alpha forms bonds with the betas in his pack, both the ones he or she has bitten and the ones he or she accepts into pack. This bond is not just emotional, but it is also mystical. Both alphas and betas draw strength and stability from the bond. A pack of werewolves isn’t just stronger due to numbers; they actually grow physically stronger.”

Peggy looked over at Steve at that news; he had explained that McCall was maybe slightly stronger than he and Schmidt. 

“However, pack bonds require maintenance. Bonds can become frayed or even severed by neglect or stress. An alpha who does not take the time to maintain them can find themselves without betas. This effectively limits the size of any werewolf pack. If the pack becomes too big, rivalries and time constraints begin to sever those connections.”

Stiles pointed out. “Like how Isaac transferred his loyalty from Derek to Scott.” He looked over at the soldiers. “Sorry. Not relevant.”

“What the Crown was intended to do was enhance the quality of pack bonds, allowing the betas of the alpha to share in not only emotional stability and physical strength but also mental strength. The alpha for which it was created was known to never have lost control on a full moon, for example. The idea was to use this crown to share that talent.”

“Oh,” said Steve to Peggy. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“You shouldn’t. What the Crown did, however, was not enhance the pack bonds, but impose them. An alpha wearing the crown would automatically form pack bonds with any werewolves he came across.” 

Stiles eyes grew wide. “You could just steal another pack’s betas by meeting them?” 

“Exactly, Stiles. And, since all it would take is a visual interaction with the alpha wearing the crown, the only limitation on the size of the pack would be how often they could see their alpha.” 

Peggy and Steve looked each other and then Peggy turned back. “How many would you estimate?”

“I’m not a military commander,” observed Dr. Deaton, “but a full battalion would be the maximum size.”

Steve swore. “It’s a super-soldier program.” 

Peggy was doing some rapid calculations. “There can’t be that many werewolves in Germany or German-occupied lands.”

“You’re forgetting the Bite,” said the veterinarian. “An alpha wouldn’t need to find them; he could make them.”

“Well, that’s not a problem!” exclaimed Stiles. “First off, Scott would find the whole imposed pack bond thing disgusting – you know how much he hated Peter for forcing it on him! And if there is one thing he hates more than mind control, it’s the very thought of giving people the bite.” He turned to the soldiers. “All his betas now were bitten by other alphas, except for Malia, and she was born that way.”

Peggy nodded in response, but now she understood the entire scenario at the dock in Sanderling Roost. It wasn’t just to tweak her and Steve’s noses. It was to begin the process of alienating McCall from his loyalties so he could be twisted to use this crown. “How do we stop it?” 

“The crown can be destroyed like any other piece of wood; it is no more durable than a log for a fireplace.” The vet promised. “It wasn’t meant to be an item of war.” He paused. “Stiles, if you would do me a favor; there is a book in the basement that might be of use.” He wrote a title on a piece of paper and handed it to him.

“Sure, doc.” The teen disappeared through the doors.

Dr. Deaton looked at the two of them. “In addition, the crown will only work with a True Alpha. It magnifies the alpha power within its bearer. A regular alpha’s power bears not only the imprint of the present holder but everyone who has ever held that power before. The dissonance would render it useless and the user insane. Scott is the first True Alpha in over a hundred years.”

“Are you suggesting?” Peggy looked at Steve, who had the clenched jaw in his angry-at-injustice way. 

“Major Carter, Captain Rogers, I love that boy like he was my own son, but I took an oath to serve the Balance. If this man could manipulate Scott into creating an army of werewolves, it would not only endanger the mundane world but also the world of the supernatural. That can’t be permitted.”

Peggy glanced at the door. “I see. I’ll bear that in mind, but I’m not going to jump to assassination quite yet. Tell me, doctor, how you would evaluate Stiles’ knowledge of the supernatural.”

The veterinarian looked at Peggy appraisingly. “There are people more intelligent than he is, but he has an openness of mind and a talent at finding connections that far exceed his peers. I have been considering training him to replace me as Scott’s emissary.”

“That might have to wait.” She looked at Steve, who squinted back at her. It was obvious that he didn’t know what she was thinking. 

Peggy Carter was thinking that the SSR needed a resident expert on the supernatural.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison, Ethan and Aiden confront Adrian Harris at San Francisco Municipal Airport. Scott wakes up on board the _Jormungandr_ and faces the Red Skull's mind games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Adrian Harris is a sexist pig in this chapter.

MARCH 21, 1943

Ethan purposefully entered her field of vision long before he got close to her on the concourse of the San Francisco Municipal Airport. He handed Allison a cup of cheap coffee in a paper cup, while keeping one for his own use. “Here. You’ve been up for over twenty-four hours.” 

“So have you.” Allison responded. She appreciated the fact that he was wary enough of her to make sure he did not accidentally startle her, but she was not sure if she liked the insinuation that she was slowing down. “I’ve gone longer without sleep. Often.”

“I’m sure you have. I’d point out that I’ve got a stronger constitution, but this isn’t a competition. There’s no reason you can’t benefit from caffeine, even if I can’t.” Ethan had always been the easier twin with which to get along. He took a sip of his coffee. “Still no sign?” 

“No sign,” agreed Allison. There had been no sign yesterday either. This could all be a waste of time.

“We could split up. I don’t know why you are convinced he’d come here.” Ethan said. “Aiden or I could go to Oakland Municipal, keep an eye out for him there.”

“Or miss him completely. Airports are huge and your sense of smell isn’t that effective with so many people in one place. We have to assume he’ll know that.” She does a sweep of the room. “Call it a hunch, Ethan, but I think he’ll come here. I remember him talking about this airport in class one day. He had gone to a conference and couldn’t help but boast about it.”

“I’d like to argue with you, but I can’t. There’s just too many ways this could go wrong. If he gets away … “

“We’ll deal with that too,” she assured him. “Where’s Aiden?” 

“I think he broke into the roof of the terminal so he could keep an eye on the roads. We know what Harris’s car looks like and he has to drive here, _if_ he’s coming here.”

“Good idea.” She smiled at Ethan. “I thought you were the thinker between the two of you.”

Ethan did not smile back. “Ha, ha. If you want to know, Aiden was actually better at school than I was. Especially math.” He sips his coffee. “People believe that just because he’s not as outgoing as I am, he’s not as smart.”

“I’m sorry. That was probably mean of me.”

“Not that mean. He’s always the one that wants to solve things alone ... I mean, just the two of us.” Ethan shrugged. “It’s always been that way. It makes him look like the aggressor. It worked for us before; I don’t think it works now.”

“Oh.” She knew it hadn’t been a great time for them since they decided to abandon Deucalion. “Are you …” She wondered for a moment if it was the best time, but she also knew that she was seldom alone with either of them. “Are you two ever sorry about the choice you made?”

“No. Gratitude only goes so far. He killed Ennis, and … did you ever think about what his endgame was?”

“Not really,” Allison answered. “We were pretty damn frightened.” That was the truth; it didn’t matter why the Alpha Pack had been doing what it was doing. 

“I don’t think he had one. He was smart, he was powerful, he was right about a lot of stuff, but he was crazy. I mean, really, really crazy.” He shook his head. “We would have followed him because we didn’t have anywhere else to go, but there wasn’t a future, not with him. There was just an uncertain amount of time before he killed us or someone else killed us.”

Allison nodded. “I can certainly see that.” She had not stopped keeping an eye out for their prey.

“We’re just lucky that you guys eventually accepted us. We didn’t think you would because of your friends.” Ethan didn’t look at her.

“Scott’s like that; he believes in second chances. He gave me one; I tried to kill them too.” She put her hand on shoulder. “We’ve learned that it’s easier to do terrible things than most people think.”

Before Ethan could answer, he suddenly startled and looked up. “Aiden’s spotted him. “ 

“Okay. Just as we discussed. We approach him from three sides. I’ll go first, as he’ll probably think I’m the least dangerous. Once I have him, we bundle him to that storeroom.” 

Ethan nodded in response. “On my way. Good luck.”

Allison was silently thankful that her father had trained on what to do in this type of situation: a dangerous opponent in a crowded public area. The standard practice was not to engage, but to follow the target out of the public area. However, when that wasn’t possible, there were techniques to allow you to get close to the target and neutralize it. It was dangerous with werewolves to do that, as a frightened werewolf could lose control. The idea was to give the impression that the situation was already settled and struggling against it would not only be futile but more dangerous.

Harris could be very dangerous. While he had more to lose by fighting, he had already shot Aiden with the intent to kill. He probably assumed that given the enormity of what he’d done, if he saw any of the Beacon Hills pack, they’d be coming for blood. They were most likely right; Allison was surprised that the twins had allowed her to try to capture him first. 

She circled the lobby of this part of the airport. If Harris had to pick up his ticket, he’d have to come here. She moved past the security guard without nodding to him even when she caught his eye. Nodding to him would make him pay attention to her – the exact opposite of what she wanted. 

She finally caught sight of Harris. She maneuvered to keep him in her gaze but hopefully somewhere he couldn’t see her. He only had one bag to check and he was carrying an overcoat over his right arm. He went to the TWA counter. She scanned the room and thought she saw the back of either Aiden or Ethan’s head. She knew there was a slight height difference, but she was trying not to stare and so she couldn't make sure. Hopefully, they were listening to his conversation with the teller.

Once he finished with the clerk, Harris checked his single bag and started heading toward the loading bay. She fell into step behind him. It doesn’t matter if he spotted her now, as long as he didn’t make a break for it yet. If she could get him, or the twins could get into position, there would be no way he could get away. 

They were halfway through the hallway between gates when suddenly Harris stopped. “Miss Argent, I would commend you on doing a half-way adequate job of sneaking up on me, but you failed to account for the way glass can act as a mirror if something is sufficiently dark behind it. What are you doing here?”

Allison did not blink. “You know why I’m here, Mr. Harris. Did you think we’d let you do what you did and get away with it?” 

“Let me? No. Actually stop me? Also no.” He turned around and when he did so, she saw that he had a gun pointed at her. He must have been carrying it beneath his coat all the time; right then only the barrel could be seen peeking out. “While these bullets aren’t poisonous to you, they’re still bullets. No sudden moves.” 

“You’re going to shoot me in the middle of an airport?” She challenged. 

“I will if I have to. I doubt you are here on your own. If shooting you keeps the hounds off of me, then that is what I'll have to do. Now, if you will step in front of me, you can escort me to my gate.”

Allison did as she was told. Harris wasn’t an idiot, but he also wasn’t trained. She was just as comfortable with the gun in her back as the gun in her front. She also understood she needed to keep him focused on her so he didn’t spot the twins. “I hope the money the Nazis paid you is going to help you sleep. He never did anything to you.”

“He was a moron gifted with power he didn’t deserve,” Harris returned the jibe. If there was one thing in which he was better than her, it was in cruel jibes. He smiled and nodded at the security guard over by the wall; it was an amateur’s mistake. “But if it makes you feel better, I’m sure that his new captors will make better use of them then he did.”

Allison got angry. “Did you know I’m a very good shot? There’s a reason I chose to get this close to you and that was because he wouldn’t like it if I just murdered you.” She took a calming breath and was rewarded by seeing Ethan coming up in the distance. 

“Oh, was that part of your training?” Harris may not have seen Ethan. His eyes were on the boarding area for his flight. “I wonder what your family thinks of you playing whore for those monsters? They shouldn’t be surprised, since they don’t seem to be able to teach a girl like you her proper place.” His voice was cool. 

“Did you think that one up in chemistry class,” she asked. She stopped moving. She had an idea what to do, but it was going to be dangerous. 

“Ah, ah, ah.” He prodded her in the back with the concealed gun. “You need to keep moving. I wonder what your mother would have said if she knew you’d keep slutting around with these animals after her death.” 

She saw Ethan ahead and he nodded slightly, pointing with his chin. However, she wasn’t interested in keeping Harris alive any more. “I know what my mother would have said. Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent.“ Then she slammed the point of her right elbow into his throat. As he choked, she grabbed his right hand and forced him to squeeze a shot off into the ceiling. 

Allison screamed in the girliest-girl voice she could manage. “Oh, help me! He has a gun!” Then she ‘fainted’, dropping to the floor and rolling away. 

Harris staggered back. She hadn’t managed to crush his larynx, but Allison had made it hard for him to breathe or speak. He’d recover in a few, but she saw form her position on the floor the panic in his eyes, especially when he saw Ethan coming at him from down the hallway. He spun around and saw Aiden in the other direction. 

If he had been a professional, he would have known to make a run for it, but he wasn’t a professional. He was just a school teacher who thought he was smarter than everyone else. He took a shot at Aiden which would have been hard enough normally but was impossible with a spasming throat in an airport full of screaming people. 

Aiden dodge behind a pylon. He hadn’t transformed yet. There was no point so far away, and he was still moving faster than a normal human could. Harris whirled around to take a shot at Ethan, but he never got a chance. The security guard, whose shouts Harris had completely ignored in his panic, had pulled his gun and fired at him twice. The guard was a much better shot.

Allison watched him drop to the floor. Even as she started getting into the mindset of the helpless, screaming woman, she checked over his wounds. They looked pretty mortal to her. She said in a normal voice, knowing that the twins were experienced enough to pick her voice out from the screaming crowd: “Boys, I’m going to be interviewed by the police. Find his bag and make it disappear.”

She locked eyes with Harris. She found that she wasn’t upset. He was a selfish, arrogant monster who valued his own life above everyone else; his death would keep innocents safe. She watched the light leave his eyes with only the slightest twinge of remorse. Aunt Kate had been right; all she needed was a reason.

######

Scott woke up in a bed with a strange humming in his ears. He was disoriented for a moment, but then the events of the last day or days flooded back to him. Now he was surprised at being in a bed. He expected to be in a cell, but this seemed to be a small bedroom. It had little furniture, though.

He sat up in the bed and realized two things. The first was that whatever wolfs bane solution they had pumped into his body was gone and second was that he was complete naked under the blankets.

The next thing he realized was that he wasn’t alone. The other person in the room was a brown-haired, blue-eyed man who could have been his age. The teen wore large black-framed glasses and a uniform that Scott didn’t recognize. When he sat up, the other man, who had been dozing jumped out of the chair and saluted him.

„Guten Morgen, Sturmscharführer McCall, ich bin dein Ordonnanz, Hydra Beweber Linde!“ It was all so very snappy.

Scott rubbed at his face. He had no idea what to do; he didn’t think violence was going to solve anything. That terrible humming still bothered his ears. “Uhm. I don’t speak German.” He could recognize it, but he didn’t know the grammar or the vocabulary.

“I am sorry!” The young man blushed. “I forgot. I said, Good morning, Assault Squad Leader McCall, I am your aide. My name is Hydra-Applicant Linde.” 

Scott was at a loss. This person was obviously a Hydra agent, but he didn’t look like he could kill a guinea pig. “You’re my aide?” He said it slowly. 

“Yes, sir.” The young man saluted again. His enthusiasm might have been funny in another context. “I’m to assist you in getting used to your new position and help you while you are on board. I am to help you learn German and proper military protocol.”

Scott felt lost. What was this supposed to be? “Where am I? Where are my clothes?”

“You are on board the _Jormungandr_ , sir. These are your quarters.” Hydra-Applicant Linde went to a small closet. “I have your clothes here.” He presented what seemed to be a uniform. 

“I meant _my_ clothes.” He wasn’t going to wear a Nazi uniform. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. Obergruppenfuhrer Schmidt instructed me to tell that the clothing you had been wearing when you came on board has been destroyed.” He looked down at the ground. “I am sorry they couldn’t be saved.”

Scott swallowed. “Okay.” He guessed that he didn’t have any choice. He extended his hand to grab the uniform. “What’s that noise?”

“What noise, sir?”

“Could you not call me 'sir'? Aren’t you like, older than me?” He started putting the clothes on. “That humming sound?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t hear anything. The _Jormungandr_ is much quieter than other submarines.” Hydra-Applicant Linde responded to the other question. “I don’t know how old you are sir, but you are a Sturmscharführer, an Assault Squad Leader. I am an Applicant, which is the lowest rank in Hydra. I should always call you sir no matter if I am older.“

“I am not a Sturm … Assault Squad Leader.” Scott protested. Then he remembered where the noise might be coming from; he had gotten on a submarine. He was on a submarine. It wouldn’t have been totally cool if he hadn’t been kidnapped by crazy Nazis. 

“Obergruppenfuhrer Schmidt instructed me to tell you that is your rank within Hydra. Every person on this submarine will treat as if you had that rank. For your own ease of mind, you should simply accept it.”

Scott was getting angry. He had agreed to go with that asshole, but he hadn’t agreed to play dress up. “Where is Ober-whatever Schmidt now?”

“He is on the bridge, sir. I am supposed to take you there, once you are fully dressed.”

Scott put on the strange flaring pants which Linde explained were called jodhpurs and a black shirt, but he wasn’t going to put on the military jacket or the hat that Linde tried to hand him. As he sat down to put on his shoes, he realized that the young man was staring at him. 

“What is it?” Scott demanded. The soldier jumped. It was getting hard to see this guy as an enemy. He could have been a senior at Beacon Hills High, if not for the uniform. 

“I’m sorry, sir, but is it true that …” He looked embarrassed to be asking this. “Is it true that you are a werewolf?”

Scott could have laughed if the whole situation wasn’t so outrageously horrible. He thought that his life had gone out of control when he was bit, but now an enemy soldier was acting like a fan in a German submarine under the Pacific. He tried to think of something sarcastic to say, but he wasn’t Stiles. He wished his friend was here to say something that would make it better.

“Yes, I am.” He finished putting on his shoes. “I’m ready. Please take me to him.” 

“I’m sorry, sir, but I was instructed not to let you leave the room until you were fully dressed.” Linde picked up the jacket as if he was going to put it on him. 

“Well, seeing that I am a werewolf, I think I’ll just leave and find him myself.” He did remember that asshole’s scent. Scott went to the narrow door and then stopped. Outside of it was a line of mountain ash. 

“I am sorry, but he ordered me that I must not break it until you are fully dressed.” He held up the jacket once more. 

“Fine.” Scott felt like someone was playing with him. He didn’t know how long he would be able to put up with this. He thought about breaking the line; he could do it, but he knew he would be weak afterwards. He needed to stay calm until he figured out what these Hydra goons wanted. After he had put on the hat and jacket, Linde broke the ash line and they left.

If he hadn’t been a prisoner forced to dance on someone’s strings and if there hadn’t been this high-pitched noise driving him crazy, he would have found walking through the corridors of the _Jormungandr_ incredibly cool. It was a submarine after all, something he had never seen but only read about in magazines. 

Every time he and Linde passed someone they saluted him. He didn’t salute back, but Linde did. He knew the military was like this. Some of them even exclaimed “Hail Hydra” at each other. Scott did not say that, and he wasn’t going to say it. Schmidt could go play tin-pot dictator by himself.

The bridge looked like something out of a movie with radar screens and a huge lighted table. Schmidt was standing on one side of the table, reading something that looked like a report. When Scott and Linde came to rest, he glanced up without acknowledging either of them and went back to reading his report. The other members of the crew were busy at their stations, so they didn’t notice them either.

Scott understood what this was. It was a show of power and status. Schmidt was going to make him wait. His instinct was to walk over there and rip the report out of his hands and punch Schmidt right in the face. He held that feeling back down but it was getting harder and harder to keep a lid on his anger.

Ten minutes later, he was still standing in the same place. He was going crazy and Schmidt wasn’t even half-way through the report. He let out a growl – and not a human growl. Linde took a step back and the entire submarine bridge crew turned around and looked. 

Schmidt looked up and slowly closed the report, setting it aside. He smiled. He had won that round. “Oh, Sturmscharführer McCall, I see you have woken up. Welcome aboard Hydra’s premier underwater vessel, the _Jormungandr_. What do you think of it?“

“It’s noisy.” Scott complained, trying to wipe the smug look off the man’s face. “What do you want from me? You made me wear this uniform, you given me a title, you’ve gotten me on this ship. Why did you take me?”

“All in good time, Sturmscharfuhrer. Let us try to keep this civil, shouldn’t we? After all, we’re on the same side now.” Schmidt gestured to someone behind him. 

“We’re not on the same side,” Scott ground out. “We’ll never be on the same side.” 

“Give it time.” Suddenly, a photographer stepped out from behind him. The man snapped a picture of him and Linde, before Scott could react. The light dazzled his eyes. While he rubbed at them, the Red Skull went on. “My apologies. I didn’t realize that flash would be so bright. I know this is your first time on a submarine, so I made sure that Hydra-Applicant Linde would be able to help you find your way around.” 

Scott could almost feel Linde smiling behind him. Such an enthusiastic little Nazi. 

“As you can tell by this map, it will take us two weeks to arrive back in the Fatherland. For those two weeks, all I ask is that you begin to learn the German language, that you do not get in the way of the ship’s operation, and that you assist Dr. Woltzmann-Barker in her experiments.” Schmidt continued. “Your real work won’t begin until we are back on German soil.”

“You’re nuts,” Scott spat. He was so angry that he didn’t even bother trying to hide the claws emerging from his hands, the fangs or his eyes glowing red. He had half a mind to beat the crap out of Schmidt right here and now.

The rest of the submarine crew reacted to the sight of his transformation with alarm – several drew weapons. Linde gave a squeak of fear and backed up right away.

Schmidt seemed undisturbed. “Impressive as always, McCall. I bet you’re thinking that since we are in a submarine, no one will be able to use guns stronger than a pistol, and we are locked in close quarters with you. You have an edge on most of the crew in strength, speed, and healing capability. It might be possible for you to defeat to defeat the entire crew. There is also an outside chance that you might possibly beat me, but you have yet to see the full extent of my abilities.” It was not a boast. Scott got the feeling that Schmidt never boasted. “But there is one thing you lack – even if you could somehow figure out how this ship worked, it takes more than one person to pilot the _Jormungandr_. So unless you would like to swim back to California, you will behave.” 

The last words were delivered with such an aura of menace that Scott snarled in response. His wolf was being challenged. But Schmidt was right. He had to play it Hydra’s way, for now.

But Scott was seriously beginning to rethink his no-killing policy. The Red Skull might be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my best with the German translations. I derived Hydra's ranks during the Second World War from the SS, as they were both 'extra-organizational' units in the German military. If I have messed anything up, please let me know.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles reveals his plan to use the Nemeton to save Scott. The pack makes plans to handle the consequences of their alpha's kidnapping. Stiles joins the army.

MARCH 21, 1943 (Continued)

Stiles was holding up pretty well, all things considering. He just had to ignore the panic and the sadness and the guilt until they went away. During times like this, it was important to keep moving. As long as you were focused on doing things, you didn’t have to feel the weight of what you had done or what you had failed to do, such as the fact that even now his father was telling Melissa McCall that he had failed to stop her son’s kidnapping. Escorting Major Carter and Captain America around Beacon Hills was a great way to keep busy.

Still, Stiles did not expect the first words of Steve Roger’s mouth to be quite so blasé. “That is certainly a very big tree.” 

Major Carter must have caught his shocked expression and in response offered Stiles a wry smile. “Captain Rogers sometimes employs understatement in situations that require it, Stiles. I am pretty sure that he is more impressed than he is letting on. I certainly am. This is what you were talking about? The Nemeton?”

Deaton had insisted on coming with them when Stiles had explained that he had an idea to help them rescue Scott. “Yes.” The emissary went on to patiently explain the nature of the telluric currents much better than Stiles could have, he was sure. Deaton talked about its history and the function that the Nemeton had in regulating those currents. “If someone were to cut it down, it would destabilize the flow of energy in this entire area. Things around here could become dangerous.”

Stiles laughed out loud at the absurdity of that statement. “Become dangerous. You are saying it could be worse than evil druids and insane werewolves?”

Deaton coupled his reply with his trademark deadpan stare. “Yes.”

“So,” Captain America put his hand on the vast trunk. Stiles didn’t know what the superhero was feeling, but Stiles had always felt its strange pull, like the undertow at a beach. It had been worse after the sacrifice, which is what had given him this idea. “This is another power source, like the thing that the Red Skull found.”

“An accurate descriptor,” observed the veterinarian. “I don’t know what other source you are referring to, but the Nemeton could be employed for great benefit or great destruction, depending on the nature of the individual using it and the methods they chose to employ.”

“Its nature is something to bear in mind, but right now we have more important things to worry about at this time.” Major Carter turned to Stiles. “You said you had an idea how we could use this to thwart Schmidt’s plans.”

“Yeah. The best thing to do would be to find Scott and get him away from Hydra, right? Without him, the Crown is just a piece of wood.” Stiles restated the basics of what they knew. “The toughest part is going to be finding him; he could be anywhere in the German-occupied Europe or even beyond. I’m hoping we can use this tree to find him.” 

“As Dr. Deaton knows, Scott is connected to the Nemeton due to a ritual we did last fall,” Stiles went on without adding any detail; he really didn’t want to talk about the sacrifice with others. “It’s not the best situation, but I was thinking that the connection has to go both ways. We’re not only connected to it, but it’s also connected to us. We pull on each other. I’m proposing we make something like a compass. You can make a compass by suspending a magnet in a pool of water. It points toward north due to the pull of the world’s magnetic field.”

Dr. Deaton thought for a moment. “The principle is sound. A branch harvested in the right manner could retain the properties of the original tree in terms of that connection. It could indicate proximity and direction, though not with scientific accuracy. Would that be useful?”

Major Carter narrowed her eyes in slight disbelief and Stiles completely understood. Yes, werewolves were real, but now they were talking about magic sticks. “I need to make sure I understand this. Something from this tree would be able to tell us where McCall is? What would be its range?”

Captain America was letting the others talk, but Stiles could see the wheels turning in its head.

“Range wouldn’t be a problem,” Deaton replied. “It would be the sensitivity of the user. There would always be a pull towards Scott, but the farther away he was, the fainter the signal.”

“Peggy, given what we’ve learned, this could be helpful in other ways,” Steve interrupted. “We are spending a lot of time trying to locate Hydra bases, based off that single glimpse of that map I saw. If McCall is the key to this whole scheme, they’d try to keep him in the most secure locations – which would be Hydra bases.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Major Carter looked at the tree. “Who would be the most sensitive? Who could use it most effectively?”

“Someone like me,” said Deaton. “Or someone like Stiles. He already has a connection to the tree.” 

Stiles looked over at the druid, but he couldn’t read the man’s face. Stiles had suspected, ever since he first had the idea, that he’d be the best person to use it. It was his fault, after all. “Yeah, but I can’t go to Europe.” 

“Actually,” Major Carter moved over to stand next to him. “I wanted to talk to you about that, Stiles. The Strategic Scientific Reserve is more than prepared to deal with whatever super-science that Hydra is working on. It is why we were created, and we have some of the most brilliant minds in the world. What we don’t have is anyone, and I mean anyone, who has the slightest knowledge of the occult and the supernatural world. I don’t know why; we probably excluded experts in those fields as cranks.” She smiled apologetically at Deaton.

“No offense, major. As you have no doubt learned by now, part of my responsibilities is concealing our world from yours. Anyone with actual knowledge and experience would have learned the danger of mixing the two worlds.” 

“Right.” The British woman continued. “The problem is that Schmidt doesn’t care about that. He’ll use anything to transform this world into matching his vision. We need an expert on werewolves in the SSR, and we need it right now. We also need someone to help us stop Schmidt’s plan before he gets it under way. Stiles, I think that person is you.”

Stiles made a confused face. “Are you drafting me?”

“As you saw with the FBI, politics always rears its ugly head no matter what. If I were to ask, say Dr. Deaton here to join us, there would be questions about his credentials and his very purpose.” Major Carter looked at the Captain who nodded reluctantly. “You agree that we don’t have time for this?”

“No,” said Stiles. “No, we don’t.”

“But a seventeen-year-old private recruited to be my assistant?” The major continued. “No one would bat an eye, and you would be there to help us not only defuse Schmidt’s plans but also help save your friend.”

Stiles took a deep breath. He had become suspicious of things that didn’t look immediately dangerous. He thought about what she was suggesting. He’d thought about what he would be willing to do in the war, and he said that he would do something if it helped protect those he loved. What was this but exactly what he was talking about?

He glanced at Deaton, but the man had adopted his infuriating I’m-a-neutral-observer face. There was going to be no help from that quarter.

“You realize that I’ve got Hyperkinetic Disorder and a history of mental illness in my family. The whole town thinks I’m already insane,” he admitted. “I would most likely be classified 4-F by any draft board.” 

Captain Rogers gave him a sincere smile. “So was I. It’s not about what you aren’t capable of doing; it’s what you can do.”

“We have to talk to my Dad. I also have to talk to my pack.” Stiles turned to Dr. Deaton. “How soon can you have the compass?”

“For strongest effect, it should be harvested on the full moon. One just passed, so it won’t be until late April.” Deaton looked apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

Major Carter shook her head. “I can arrange it to be shipped to us in Europe, but we can’t stay here for that long.” 

Stiles nodded and walked off back towards the cars. “Do you really think I’ll be able to help?”

“Stiles, you’ve already helped,” the major responded. “Without you, I’d probably still be chasing Harris right now and Steve would have watched your friend drive right into the estate. We’d have no idea how to stop Schmidt’s plans for the Crown. We’d have no idea that there was even a threat until a platoon of werewolves showed up.” 

“She’s right. But you are underage, so no one is going to hold it against if you don’t want to do this,” Captain Rogers explained. 

“You’re wrong, Captain,” Stiles answered. “I’ll hold it against me.”

******

The pack gathered on the lacrosse pitch in the late afternoon. It was a Sunday, so no one but them would be there. Everyone was tired and stressed, and Isaac was trying his best to keep everyone focused on the problem. He looked over at Allison, sitting on one of the bleachers exhaustedly, and she rewarded him with a smile, as if suggesting he was doing a good job. He didn’t feel he was doing a good job.

Stiles, sitting alone on one part of the bench, had just finished talking about what he had experienced. He had even waved Malia away from where he was sitting, even though she seemed more than willing to take his side. Isaac was still so mad at him that he could barely look him in the eye. 

On the other hand, he had no idea how to help Scott. No idea whatsoever. As strange as his life had become, the idea of a foreign power trying to use his alpha to create an army of werewolves left him spun around like a leaf in a thunderstorm.

Allison had also reported on the not-so-unfortunate death of Mr. Harris. She hadn’t even blinked when she told the story. The fact that the twins were totally in her corner didn’t make him feel good. Lydia, Stiles and Malia were unfazed by the story, while Jackson looked nauseous. He was the only one who felt like he had betrayed something important, but it was too late to change his mind. He’d made the call.

He understood, of course. After months of peace and quiet, where they had let themselves believe that things could get better, everything had suddenly just exploded. They had learned to trust Scott and to feel safe with his leadership, and now it was all gone. Isaac regretfully had to acknowledge that all they had left was him.

“So,” Isaac scratched at his chin. “What haven’t we talked about?” 

“The FBI,” said Lydia, immediately. “Your friends in the SSR didn’t say anything to them about Scott or the Crown?” She demanded of Stiles.

Stiles nodded. “There is no reason for them to rat us out, and they don’t want the FBI involved in what they’re doing anyway.”

“Which is great as far as secrets go,” Lydia reasons. “But otherwise, it is not particularly good news for us. This means that if they don’t know about Scott’s werewolfness or Hydra’s plans for the Crown, they are just going to assume that Scott was a Nazi spy, working with Harris.”

Isaac felt himself pale. The FBI had no reason not to believe that, and, according to Stiles, they were already embarrassed. He might be mad at Stiles, but the human knew what he was talking about. 

“Which means,” continued Lydia, “that they are going to come here and investigate everyone who was a known associate. That means they are going to look at us, hard. They are going to look at everything, including fugue states, mysterious deaths of relatives, police station massacres, misreported deaths, human sacrifices, people with no last names, girls missing for eight years, everything.” She was being very brusque. “They’ve looked at it before, but now they have motivation to make something out of it. We are in serious trouble.”

Isaac frowned. “You really think so?” 

Lydia tosses her head to one side. “Let us consider the person I know the most about – me. Imagine these questions: Miss Martin, according to your parents and teachers, you were not friends with Mr. McCall until a year ago. Why did you become friends with him? This happened soon after you were attacked at the Winter Formal; did Mr. McCall have anything to do with that? Are you sure, Miss Martin, that you don’t remember anything about the two days that no one could find you?” She ticks things off on her fingers. “I have perfect grades, I am popular, I’m upper class, and I choose to hang out with a lower-class Mexican?” She scowls at the others at their reaction. “You know I don’t think that way, but that’s the way my parents think and that’s the way those FBI agents might think. I don’t have an answer for that they’ll believe. Maybe, maybe, my parents will come to my defense and get me a lawyer, or maybe they’ll push me to testify against him to save myself. I cannot really predict how they’ll act.”

Everyone looked at her but she kept on. “I am already thinking of a few ways I can hold them off, but they are going to come at us, and they are not going to stop. You’d be surprised what people will do when their careers are on the line.” She eyed Allison. “I know your family has serious political connections. Is there anything that they can do?”

“I can talk to my Dad,” said Allison, “but Gerard is the one who had most of the high-level contacts.” 

Isaac growls. “He’s not going to use them for our benefit.”

“He might, if I and my Dad lean on him enough.” Allison replies. “But I can’t guarantee anything.”

“I think we have to leave,” Aiden said suddenly. Ethan looked up at him and there was an unspoken communication between them. Ethan knew what he meant and he wasn’t happy. “Ethan and I can leave. Just pack up and go in the middle of the night. You’re all natives here; you’ve got reasons to be here and reasons to know Scott. If two drifters suddenly disappear, then that’s where they’ll focus their attention.”

“But …” Ethan looked like he was going to start an argument. 

Aiden locked eyes with his brother. After Ethan looked away, Aiden went on. “Look, we’ve done everything we could to be pack, but I know that most of you don’t want us here.” He stared straight at Isaac, who stared straight back at them. Isaac thought there was no reason to lie. “We all know how bad it is right now. It’s the least we can do.”

Ethan looked mutinous. “Just because you don’t have …”

Aiden snarled at his brother. “We can talk about that later.”

Lydia was looking at Aiden with a calculating glance. “It would work, if you are willing to do this. We can all tell stories of the mysterious twins who blew into town and then fled after Scott left. They’d have an easy target with no one to defend them – sorry, guys – but there is another problem. We’d be ditching Scott.”

Malia, who had been sitting apart from the others, finally spoke up. “He’s done for anyway.” The group rounded on her. “What? It’s true. Let us say that somehow we free him from an army and he comes back. They’re not going to suddenly forget that he’s a criminal. The only thing that could save him from the crime is telling them about werewolves, and you know he won’t do that.” 

No one had anything to say to answer that.

“We know him,” Malia stated. “Do you think he’d want us to go to jail for no reason? We can’t change what happened; all we can do is make sure more bad things don’t happen.”

Isaac knew she was right. He wished she wasn’t, but she was. Nothing was ever going back to how it was. He turned to Aiden and Ethan. “I hate you two. You know I do. I know you’ve been trying to make up for what you’ve done, but you’ll never do that for me. But … that’s not what I’m supposed to do. And Scott wouldn’t want you to do what you want to do. You’ll be hunted even more than you are now. I don’t want you to leave the pack.”

Aiden shook his head. “Well … thanks, I guess, but it’s not like we can hide out in the Preserve for the rest of our lives.”

Jackson interrupted. “No. Just until June. I’ll take you with me to Argentina.” 

It was the first time that someone said they were going to take Derek up on his offer. “I can’t be drafted. No one is going to order me to kill someone else, ever again.” 

Lydia took Jackson’s hand and squeezed. They must have talked about it. 

Isaac looked at the couple and then at the ground. Everyone had an idea about how to help but him. All he got to do was make the decisions. “Okay. Aiden and Ethan will disappear and hide out in the Preserve until June. They’ll go to Argentina with Jackson in June. Stiles, if your Dad agrees, you’ll join the freaking army. The rest of us will hold our territory and try to think of a way to bring you all back.”

Isaac tried to sound sure and he looked up afterwards to see if he had succeeded. Allison was smiling at him, and surprisingly Stiles and Malia were looking like they agreed. Jackson and Lydia were looking at each other and there was sadness and Aiden and Ethan were looking at each other and it looked like Ethan was about to punch his brother. 

God, Isaac wished Scott was here.

******

“It is out of the question. You are not joining the army -- special unit or not!” His father was very angry, but Steve could tell it was only a manifestation of fear for his only son. 

“Dad, in seven months, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

“Then you can join in seven months!” The shout is one of desperation.

Steve looked down at his dinner plate. The sheriff had invited Peggy over for dinner in order to make up for lying to her; he was a gentleman like that. However, Stiles had taken this as an opportunity to explain the plan for him to join the SSR. Stiles had told them it wasn’t going to be easy, and he was right. It shouldn’t be easy, though. 

“Dad, while I am so happy that your concern for me is enough to have you yelling in front of guests, you aren’t thinking this through. They need me. Scott needs me. It’s something I can do right now. Unless you think that I’m not capable of it?”

Steve winced. That was a low blow, but he understood the kid’s point. 

“I want you to be safe,” the sheriff protested.

“I’ve not been safe for over a year, and that’s not your fault. Look, this is the best of everything for all of us. I get to serve my country, I get to work on my guilt issues, and you get to know I’m not on the front lines.”

The sheriff frowned and turns to Cap. “Not that I don’t trust my son, but I don’t trust my son. He won’t be on the front lines?” He should have directed his question to Peggy, but this wasn't a fight to have right then.

“We have plenty of people who fight. We don’t have plenty of people to tell us what we’re up against. Your son wants to help, and he can. I’m not going to promise that he won’t be in danger – this is war, after all.”

The sheriff sat back in his chair. “When would he leave?” 

“Tomorrow,” Peggy stated immediately. She was always the pull the bandage-off-the-wound-quickly-type person. “It’ll take two weeks for the _Jormungandr_ to get back to Germany. I want an actual plan in place with our units before they get there.”

Steve was surprised when the sheriff didn’t protest the speed of it. He realized that the other man appreciates direct reasoning. Beating the bad guys to the punch was a good reason.

Stiles suddenly looked stricken and Steve realized that the idea of leaving his father had just become real to him. He caught the boy’s eye and gave him a nod. It happened to everyone, eventually.

“I will sign,” sighed the Sheriff. “I thought this wouldn’t happen for another year. I thought I’d have more time. But you be careful, Stiles.” He pointed at him. “Because you need to come back. Do you understand?” 

Everyone understood.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac makes a terrible discovery on his way home to school; Lydia tells the twins what she thinks of them; Hydra's spies act on the Red Skull's orders.

MARCH 25, 1943

Isaac wished that umbrellas were cool. They weren’t cool; they were the opposite of cool. A boy carrying an umbrella was a ticket to an instant reputation as corny. He wondered, just for a moment, why he still worried if people think he’s corny, but he still did. Also, he’s wet and miserable from the constant rain falling as he walked back to the McCall house after school; the water had soaked the jacket he was wearing. He couldn’t wait to get inside.

Usually, he’d have reached the house by now, but with Scott gone and the motorcycle so much scrap metal, he’d have to walk home after practice. He would have had to skip practice to take the bus, and he didn’t want to do that. Maybe today he should have. Thankfully, he didn’t get as sick as much anymore.

He was aware of the sound of a commotion long before he’s aware of it by sight and scent. Car doors were slamming and people were muttering and shouting at each other. Isaac hurried his pace even more but he was careful not to break into a run. The whole pack was trying to be more subtle now that things weren’t trying to kill them.

He turned the corner onto the street where the McCall house stood only to be greeted by a sight that he’d only seen in the movies. There was a small crowd of cars blocking the street and a small crowd of people standing on the sidewalk out in front of the McCall house. It looked like there were three big cars and two of the sheriff’s patrol cars pulled up on the lawn of the house and then a couple of other cars parked haphazardly on the other side of the street. People wearing overcoats against the rain were moving to and from the house and deputies were keeping another small group of people back. Isaac stared at those people, armed with cameras and notebooks. They were the press; lead weights sank through his stomach.

What the hell were they doing at the McCall house? Well, technically, he should say it was his house, too; he was living there. The chill in his bones had nothing to do with the cold rain that was falling. He hesitated about going forward until he saw the Sheriff come out of the house. Stiles’ father had a look on his face like he was teetering between furious anger and despair. 

Isaac started walking forward when he saw the Sheriff. He knew a few of the deputies, but he didn’t trust them. He could trust Stiles’ father, because after all, it was Stiles’ father. The man understood. There was no doubt that the Sheriff was probably upset that his son had joined the bleeding army. Of all of them, Isaac thought that Stiles would have been the last to go.

Isaac knew that this opinion wasn’t exactly fair. While Stiles wasn’t the most graceful or most athletic human he knew, he wasn’t nearly as helpless physically as some people – including Stiles himself – thought. In addition, the rumors about his mental health were absurdly exaggerated. The human could be a little unfocused and spastic, but he was still sharp. Still, his family history and the rumors might have been enough to get him a 4-F classification. It was moot now; Stiles was on a plane for Europe and Isaac realized he missed him. Isaac had never liked Stiles because Stiles hadn’t liked Isaac. Of course, Stiles would probably say that he hadn’t like Isaac because Isaac hadn’t liked him. 

He had gotten half way up the block when the sheriff and his eyes met. The sheriff shook his head, quickly and carefully, which immediately signaled danger. Isaac stopped and cocked his head to one side. The sheriff spoke in a low voice, so only he could hear. “Hide, Isaac, now.”

Isaac didn’t need a second warning and sprinted to the other side of a nearby house. He didn’t think anyone was home, and it was in a good position so he could keep an eye on what was going on. Other than the Sheriff, he didn’t think anyone standing in front of the McCall house had seen him earlier.

He did not need to wait long to find out exactly what was going on. Three men in overcoats, looking serious and grim, emerged from the house, escorting Mellissa McCall between them. It confused Isaac until he realized that they were arresting her. Then he could feel his heartbeat race; he could feel the blood pounding in his ears. It was a small mercy that he was already hiding, because he shifted and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. 

Isaac growled out loud. He didn’t care if anyone heard. They were going to put her in a car and drive away with her, and he knew he could stop a car. In the confusion, it wouldn’t take him long to take out three unknowing men and then free Melissa. The only thing that stopped him was he didn’t know what would happen afterward. He didn’t have the money to go on the run; he didn’t have any money at all. Acting violently would be soothing, but it wouldn’t solve anything, but even so he couldn’t stand this. He gouged the wall of the house he was hiding behind with deep rents. Someone was going to have some repair work to do.

The sheriff was casually walking in his direction. He had left his deputies and the people away. He began talking. “I know you can turn off your hearing, so do it now. You don’t want to hear they’re going to say, and it is all law-enforcement bullshit anyway. Meet me around the corner, Isaac, and I’ll tell you what’s really going on.”

As they led Melissa to one of the cars, the people with the cameras began taking photographs. A man in the overcoat headed toward the members of the press. Isaac was tempted to ignore the Sheriff’s advice and listen in, but given the problems he was having with control right now, he fought off that urge.

Forcing himself to leave the location, he met the sheriff around the corner and down the street. He was even more miserable in the rain. “What’s going on? Where are they taking Melissa?”

The Sheriff took a deep breath. “They are placing her in protective custody. That is a fancy way of saying they are going to take her to San Francisco and grill her about Scott supposedly being a German spy. It’s bullshit, but as you can see they invited the newspapers here. This tells me that this has really nothing to do with the case they are pursuing. They’re just trying to give the impression that they are doing something. This, Isaac, is called covering your ass.” 

“They can do that?” Isaac growled at him. “They can just drag her out of her home to make themselves look good?”

The Sheriff put one hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Son, pull your claws in. It happens more often than you might think, and I’ve done similar things myself. Part of a cop’s job is to make people think they’re totally safe. I’m not excusing it; I’m just saying where the urge comes from. Getting angry about it isn’t going to help anyone.” He gave the shoulder a squeeze. “To be honest, they want to drag you in as well, so you need to get out of here, drawing the minimum attention to yourself. I’ve got calls into a lawyer I know to help Melissa, but they’ve got enough cause to interrogate both of you.”

Isaac let the Sheriff’s authority and care help get him back under the control. “If they can’t find me, won’t I be a fugitive? I’ve been a fugitive before and … Maybe I should go with them.”

“You feel up for that? They’ll push you pretty hard. They may be trying to save their careers after making a mistake, but they’re professionals. They’ll be better than I am at this.” The Sheriff was in father mode right now. “I don’t want to lie, it would be better for you than running and hiding, but it is going to be dangerous. You kids … you’ve given up too much. I wish I could protect you from this, but I can’t. In supposed espionage cases, the FBI can do whatever they pretty much please.”

“I can’t leave Melissa alone. Will you come with me?” He looked hopefully at the Sheriff, who nodded. Isaac knew that sometimes you had to stand and fight for what was right, and sometimes that didn’t mean physical fighting. The McCalls took him in and made them part of his family. 

The Sheriff nodded. “Remember, you have the right to an attorney, so don’t say anything unless you and Melissa have one. I’ll contact Mr. Argent. He’s told me before that they cultivate relationships with certain lawyers just in case things go bad.” They started walking back towards the house.

“I can’t afford a lawyer,” Isaac suddenly said, conscientiously. He could have laughed, because he suddenly felt more frightened than he had been in a long time.

“It doesn’t matter. You’ve got people here who will help. You’re not alone.” 

 

March 27, 1943

Lydia Martin had spent far too much time in her life in the preserve. She was neither an outdoorsy girl nor a werewolf, so she took it as a personal affront when she had to hike through the woods. On the other hand, she had gotten pretty good at it over time. At least, she knew when to wear comfortable shoes. 

Today, she was sweating, and she did so hate to sweat, but it could not be helped. She trekked through to the woods to where the old Hale House used to be – torn down now by order of the county. When the war was over, Derek had promised to return and rebuild the house, but until then, it was slowly being taken down as part of a CCC project. 

It wasn’t that she was overdressed; she knew how to dress for this type of weather – early spring weather where it could easily turn chilly with a passing cloud or the movement of time. It was the bags she was carrying. They weren’t heavier than she was used to carrying, but she wasn’t at a mall. Where were werewolves when you needed them?

She had left Jackson at home. She had business out in the woods and she really didn’t want to have to deal with the boy’s fragile ego. He was getting better she knew; he had actually volunteered to help people he didn’t like because they were pack. Such positive behavior should be rewarded.

She knew where she was going, but she was glad either way when she saw Aiden emerge from the hidden entrance to one of the Hale’s underground chambers. They had several different locations around the forest where they had placed secure locations. 

Aiden had this look on his face that he was intending to be sour but then thought better of it. “Afternoon, Lydia.” He wasn’t the first guy who couldn’t get over her, and he wouldn’t be the last. 

“Hello! “ She rewarded him with a smile. “Beware wailing women bringing gifts … and bad news. Let’s go down. I don’t want to talk about this out here.”

Aiden sighed. “Gifts I like. Bad news, not so much. What is it this time? Are the Japs invading?” He led her into the underground chambers. They were cramped and dark, but they were dry and safe.

“Funny you should mention that. I’m looking for volunteers to come with me to Oak Creek. When we were there with Major Carter, I heard something that I’d like to look into more closely.”

“Don’t you have enough problems without looking for more of them?” Aiden grumbled. She couldn’t blame him. If she had to live here, she would be murderous.

“Two things wrong with that question, Aiden dear.” She moved to the central chamber which basically served as the twin’s parlor, kitchen and dining room while they were ‘on the run?’ “First off, it is don’t ‘we’ have enough problems? You and your brother volunteered to protect us from that wretched teacher and you have basically become federal fugitives to protect the pack. I don’t think any of us would have any reluctance considering you or him part of our pack. Well, Isaac might, but he barely likes half of us as it is, so feel free to disregard him.”

Aiden was just a little taken aback. “Well … thanks.”

“I am not an ungrateful person, Aiden. I know who my friends are and what they have done.” She starts unpacking the bags in the dim light of the bulbs. “As for the second thing wrong with that question, I believe that ‘us not looking for trouble’ is what got us in this present trouble.”

Aiden moves to help her unload the bags. “What is this stuff?”

“Food. Clothing. Toiletries. Just because you are hiding out in the woods doesn’t mean you have to eat raw squirrel and use leaves in the bathroom. Please.” Lydia displays the items for him as she pulls it out, but she continues talking about her previous point. “We were all shocked that Mr. Harris survived the Darach’s sacrifice – no one greater than me – but we didn’t investigate about how he survived. There was a supernatural mystery that we thought was harmless and unimportant so we just ignored it.”

She held up a cardigan to Aiden’s form. “How harmless and unimportant is he now? Allison and you might have taken care of him and thank you again for that, but the consequences of us not being alert should be obvious. Ethan and you have given up your lives here for the next few years – maybe even forever – who can tell? Scott’s essentially the prisoner of an evil Nazi ubermensch and being dragged all over the world. Oh, Melissa McCall and Isaac Lahey were arrested Thursday night by the FBI.”

Aiden stared at her dumbfounded. “What the hell? Why?”

From the other room, they could both hear Ethan fall out of the cot that was the bed. 

“They’re calling it protective custody, but they made sure that the press was there. The Sheriff was ready to shoot someone. Think about it – what’s worse than ignoring the army and letting German spies operate on American soil? Not having anyone to blame for it. Mr. Argent’s already sent a lawyer to help both of them, but that’s all we can do. We have to wait.”

Ethan came out, rubbing his eyes. “So we did this for nothing?”

“No,” said Lydia. “You didn’t do this for nothing. It’s still the best way to answer all the awkward questions that could only be answered by supernatural. But it is best,” she sighed. “It is best if we realize that we are no longer in a winnable situation. We are in a survival situation. We’re working to survive. The FBI isn’t a force we can intimidate or drive off. We have to endure them and then start rebuilding.”

Aiden threw a bottle of pop to Ethan. “Lydia brought us some good stuff. Rebuild to what though?”

“Do you want to stay in Argentina forever? You might, but I hope you don’t.” She let that hang in the air. “I hope both of you and Jackson and Derek and Cora come back. Peter can go screw.” It was not lady-like language. “That means that when you do come back, we’re going to have to have any warrants vacated. We all want Scott back, but we’re going to have to make sure that he can actually live here. We have to make sure that everyone understands that he’s not a spy. That’s going to take work.”

Lydia had gotten a little heated during that last speech. It had become clear to her over the last few days that she was simply displeased with this whole situation. She had thought about feeling guilty for not figuring out that they should have interrogated Harris earlier, but then she dismissed it. Placing the blame was a waste of time and energy. 

“You two are doing your part; I hope you understand.” She points out. “And I will do my part while I remain behind. And part of that means that I am going to have to go and investigate Oak Creek.”

Aiden looked over at his brother. “I’m not going to argue with her.” He made it jokey, but Ethan didn’t laugh. Lydia could tell that things were still tense between them.

She had the answer for that as well. She dug into one of the bags and came out with an envelope. “Here, Ethan. This is for you.” 

Ethan accepted it. She knew he would be able to tell who it was from before he even opened it. “How? How does he know to write me a letter?”

“I told him, of course.” Lydia made a moue of impatience. “I may not have known everything that was going on – which I am still cross about, by the way – but I can tell when something is going on with one of my oldest friends. It didn’t take very long to figure out that he was upset and pining over you. Really, Ethan – leave without saying a word?”

“I thought that if the G-men talked to him, he’d be too angry to try to defend me.” Ethan looked up fearfully. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him the truth – as much of it as I thought prudent at the time. There was no other way for him not to be mad at you. He wants to visit, but I told him that would have to be worked out between you two. Now, shoo. Go into your room and write a message back. While I’m content to be a messenger, I won’t be kept waiting.”

Ethan scooted off. Aiden went up to her. “Thank you for this. It means a lot to him. It means a lot to me.”

“We’re pack,” she said lightly. “That’s what we do.”

 

MARCH 28, 1943

The editor comes over with a copy of the paper, identical to the copy of the paper he has in his hands. The term that people used would ‘hot off the presses’ but these papers had actually been off of the presses to be room temperature. That didn’t keep his editor from being enthusiastic.

“Look, if you wrote this well every time I sent you to some small rinky-dink town in the North, I’d have you living up there,” Simon raved. “This is top-line shit, Miles. This is stuff that we need all the time.” 

“It’s not going to win me the Pulitzer Prize,” Miles shrugged back. He was trying to play it cool, but he can’t help but be pleased by Simon’s praise. “You get a good story when you have a good story.”

“Oh, the writing isn’t going to get any awards,” stated Simon, “but the emotion, the hook! People are going to follow this story for as long as we push it. Any chance for a trial?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. The G-men were doing that thing they do when they act like have a big case but they don’t actually say anything, which tells me that they don’t actually have a big case, but they really, really need one. So, they’ll probably dig pretty hard.”

“It’s time like this that I feel pangs of conscience.” Simon stated with mock gravity. “As a journalist dedicated to the truth, I think that they should be given the benefit of the doubt and every effort made to defend them as much as prosecute them. As an editor who needs to sell papers to keep his job, I want ‘Nazi Mom and Her Kid Spies’ on the banner three issues a day. “ 

“I’ll do what I can, Simon.” Miles stood up and got his coat on. “Now, I’m going out for lunch. I’ll be back in an hour.”

The reporter took a copy of the AP wire report of the incident along with a copy of the newspaper with him as he went to his favorite automat for lunch. He always went to the same place, every day, for two reasons. First, this particular automat had the best pastrami on rye in the entire Bay Area. He didn’t know how they made it so well – it was an automat – but he just couldn’t get enough of it.

The second reason was that he needed to meet his contact. They did not know each other’s names. He had suspected that the man was a truck driver and moved across country a lot. Honestly, he had no idea why he had been ordered to make sure that the arrest of someone from an inconsequential town got wide recognition, but he knew there had to be a reason. He dropped the packet of newspapers and negatives for the trucker. 

As they parted, he whispered “Hail Hydra.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Private Stilinksi arrives in Europe at the SSR's present location. He gets to meet Howard Stark. The FBI attempts to force Isaac to turn on Scott but help arrives for him form an expected corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some pretty serious homophobic comments in this chapter. There is also a dismissal of child abuse.

MARCH 30, 1943

Colonel Phillips leaned forward at his desk in the headquarters tent. Early in his career as an officer, one of his senior officers had confided that having a neat and tidy desk was an effective way to intimidate soldiers. It had worked, but the moment the real war against Hydra started, he found it was better to look as if he was busy, that he didn’t have time to lay pencils in a line or have neat stacks of folders. The fact that he was indeed too busy to do that was also a contributing factor.

The truth was that Chester Phillips was worried. While they had destroyed two Hydra bases and had the lead on a half-dozen more thanks to the remarkably-more-useful-than-I-had-thought-he-would-be Captain America, the fact was that they hadn’t appreciably slowed the production of Hydra’s new technology. The bases had been defended, but Schmidt had shown that he was willing to sacrifice them for his ultimate plan. An ultimate plan about which Phillips knew nothing.

And now this report; Hydra was going to try to win the war by harnessing the power of folklore and monsters. The colonel shook his head slowly. “I’d have you two committed to the nuthouse …” He tapped the report. “Tell me what I just read isn’t real, and you two are playing one hell of an inappropriate prank.” 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Major Carter responded promptly. “We were pretty surprised by it ourselves.” 

“Well, now we have to find ourselves a supply of silver bullets. Wonderful.” He pushed back in his chair. He was getting too old for this shit.

“Actually, silver bullets don’t do anything to werewolves and they’re really inaccurate,” said the pale, thin boy in a uniform behind them. “The myth about werewolves and silver bullets comes from one of the prominent hunting families. You see – I happen to know the Argents – and Argent is the French word for silver.” He, Carter and Rogers were just looking at him. “And over time, people came to believe that silver killed werewolves … when … it was …” The boy trailed off as he realized they were all looking at him. 

Phillips demanded of his agents. “Who the hell is this?”

“This is Private Stilinski,” Rogers introduced. “We recruited him to help us with this matter. He’s an expert on werewolves.”

The colonel snorted and then pointed a finger at the boy. “He looks like he’s an expert on chasing skirts. You sure about this, Major?”

“Yes, sir, I am. Private Stilinski, why don’t you explain your qualifications to the Colonel. We did not mention you in the report, as this would be going into the official files.”

The young man stepped forward. “Uh, yes, ma’am.” He tried to salute. It was terrible, but he had obviously been practicing. “Sir, my name is Sti … Private Stiles Stilinski. Before all this happened, I was the best friend of the kidnapped alpha and a member of his pack. In the pack, it was kind of my job to research things that the pack needed to know. I volunteered to help because Major Carter explained that you didn’t have anyone who would know about these things.”

Phillips stood up and put his hands on hips. “What is it with my command and underfed youngsters.” He glanced at Rogers. “So tell me, private, what’s the chance that I have werewolves in my units already?”

“It is unlikely, sir.” The boy hesitated for a moment. “The born wolves I know of have always avoided military service, and they stress that bitten wolves shouldn’t do it either. Werewolves who are away from their pack too long grow unstable. They’re called omegas. Most of the stories you’ve heard of werewolves killing and eating people come from omegas. Also, it would be very hard for a werewolf in combat not to shift, let alone find reasons every month to disappear on the full moon. A unit like yours wouldn’t tolerate troublemakers, I think.”

“You’d be surprised,” commented Rogers, but he shut up after the colonel glared at him. 

The colonel studied the boy. “I guess I don’t have any choice. I’d think that when I got to be a colonel, I’d have to accept bullshit a lot less, but I guess that isn’t always true. He’s your responsibility, Major. Where is he going to bunk? And why doesn’t he have a gun?”

Major Carter replied smoothly. “We haven’t issued him a sidearm yet. He did not go through basic training. I would like him to be bunked with Mr. Stark. He’s not meant to be in the field; we need him for his knowledge.”

The private opened his mouth to talk but Captain Rogers shook his head. The colonel smiled inwardly; talkers always had a problem with military etiquette. “Sounds good to me. Son, you are going to be available to any officer day or night for expertise in this. I’ve spent most of this war gettin’ the shit surprised out of me and that is going to stop. You’re dismissed.”

The private hesitated for a moment and then backed out of the room. He obviously had no idea where to go, so he wandered off in the general direction. As soon as the boy was gone, the colonel rounded on his operatives. 

“Seriously? A seventeen-year-old expert? What the hell were you thinking major?”

“I was thinking, Colonel, that we need to know everything we can. This species is very determined to maintain its secrecy, and we don’t need an expert who tries to keep things from us. Private Stilinksi is desperate to rescue his friend, so we’ll have his cooperation.” 

“How much time do we have before Schmidt has what he came for?”

“It’s impossible to say, sir. He can’t create his werewolf army without McCall’s help, which means he's going to need time to coerce him,” Rogers pointed out. “Everyone we talked to believe that it would be next to impossible for Schmidt to get McCall’s assistance. He seems a good kid.”

“And what do you think?”

Rogers shook his head. “I think no matter how good a kid he is, he's a seventeen-year-old child up against an evil, mass-murdering Aryan superman. He’s not going to hold out forever.”

“My best guess, sir, is that it’ll take at least two months, possibly a lot longer, but not long enough that I didn’t feel we should move with alacrity,” Carter explains. “It is the same with the tesseract and their advanced technology. We hit them and we keep hitting them until we find a way to stop it.”

“At least this has a primary target,” the colonel grunted at them. “I want that Crown destroyed top priority.”

“You don’t want us to try to reclaim it?” Carter queried.

Colonel Phillips shook his head. “I’m willing to do almost anything to win this war against the Nazis and Hydra, but I won’t resort to slavery and mind control. If we do that, we might as well put on the same uniform. You get a chance, you take it out.”

“Yes, sir!” answered Captain America, enthusiastically.

Colonel Phillips went out into the hallway, looked around and then came back in. “This next order is for your ears only. If you can’t get to the crown, but you get a chance to take McCall out, you do so.” He raised his hand. “I know what you are going to say but … this report. There’s a reason that you weren’t going to be allowed to go to the front, Rogers. Whoever gets super soldiers first wins the war. Hydra can’t be allowed to get that army. Do you understand?”

“I understand, sir.” Rogers looked him square in the face. “But I will only do that as a last resort. I had a chance to stop this, and I didn’t, so I’m not going to make an innocent person pay for my mistakes.”

The colonel waved them out of his office.

******

Stiles was able to navigate the camp pretty well; he only got lost twice. The fact that the camp was half mobile army camp and half reclaimed Hydra base on a Greek island didn’t help matters much. He only had to ask for directions twice.

The room he finally found himself in was cavernous and a total wreck. It must have been the base’s primary laboratory before the fighting had blown most of the work there to smithereens. Someone had undoubtedly cleared away space, but it was still a mess. When Stiles entered the room, a man in a pair of goggles walked up to him, holding something that looked like a space gun from the serials.

“Hold this.” The man, looking rather ridiculous in a lab coat, goggles and a jaunty moustache, shoved the gun into Stiles’ hands. “When I tell you, point it at that target and push that button.” 

“Uh. Okay.” Stiles turned the space gun around in his hands. “I’m …”

“Wait a moment.” The man rushed back to the other side of the room and put up, on what looked like a make-shift eagle, a square of metallic looking fabric. He then backed away and said: “Now!” 

Stiles pulled the trigger and blew the hell out of the wall. The space gun fired a bolt of blue energy. It must be a Hydra weapon like the ones that he saw the Red Skull fire.

The man in the goggles looked at him. “I’m sorry. Have you never fired a gun before? Please hit the target.”

“I’ve never fired a gun like _this_ before!” Stiles protested. 

“Neither has most of the world. Hit the target.” The man backed up. “Really. Do it again.”

Stiles managed to hit the target and blew the hell out of the shiny metallic fabric. He wasn’t sure what the result was supposed to be, but he believed from the scowl on the man’s face, it wasn’t supposed to be utter destruction.

“Well, that’s disappointing.” The man took off his goggles and walked over to Stiles, holding out his hands. He sighed. “If the metal is too expensive, we won’t be able to make sufficient armor. Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking about absorption and think more about deflection. What do you think?”

“Uhm.” Stiles said. “I think I don’t know what to think. What do you think I should think?”

The man turned to him. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Private Stilinski, Major Carter’s new assistant?” Stiles was actually intimidated by this person, whoever he was. 

“Are you asking me? I assume you aren’t, but Peg’s got a new assistant! What does she need a new assistant for? Are you old enough to drive?” The man expected an answer. Stiles finally noticed he wasn’t wearing a uniform.

“Yes. I can drive.” 

The man narrowed his eyes at him. “Then why are you here?”

“I was told I was supposed to bunk here. That I needed to square away my work, whatever that means.” 

“Your work?” The man eyed him speculatively and decided to change tactics. “Howard Stark. Please to meet you.” He extended his hand. “What work would that be?”

Stiles took his hand and shook it. It was a firm grip. “You’re Howard Stark? You were the one who worked with Dr. Epstein?” He tried not to get overly excited. “That was really keen, what you did.”

Howard didn’t seem to be too interested in Stiles’ compliments. “Yes. I just told you I was Howard Stark, and I’ll answer your questions, if you answer mine.”

Stiles knew how to stretch the truth. He didn’t want to tell anyone about werewolves until Major Carter gave the okay. “I have insight into Hydra’s new super soldier program due to my history. I’m going to help the S.S.R. come up with ways to counter it.”

“New super soldier program? What!” Howard was excited and upset at the same time. “Why wasn’t I told about this?”

“They just found out about it a week or so ago? I’m not supposed to discuss details.” Stiles hadn’t actually been told who he could discuss it with or not, but he was determine to keep the secret from as many people as he could.

“Oh. Peggy and Cap’s California journey. Well, I will get the story from them. So, what do you need?”

“A place to sleep? None of my books have arrived. Do you need help now?” Stiles asked. He was trying to distract the scientist. 

“You will absolutely regret offering to help.” Howard led them to the sleeping quarters where Stiles got one of his own. It was Spartan, but it was something he could live with. He got himself set up when Peggy and Captain America arrived after they had finished with the Colonel.

Howard confronted them immediately, though not angrily. “There’s a new super-soldier program? I am going to need details about it. Your new intern didn’t want to say anything.”

“That’s because, Howard, I told him not to.” Peggy frowned. “Private, you can share the details with Mr. Stark.”

Stiles looked at Peggy and Cap. He frowned. “Major, I understand …”

Steve put in. “Howard won’t abuse the knowledge he gets here. I trust him. You can trust him.” 

Stiles then carefully summarized the events of the last month for Howard Stark. The play of emotions on the inventor’s face ran from is-this-a-joke to disbelieving to incredulous to excited. 

“Well, that’s something we absolutely have to stop. “ Stark looked at the Major and the Captain. “I can keep my good friend here busy when you are off on your missions. Don’t worry about him.”

Major Carter looked pleasantly irritated. “Now I am worried. Howard, I don’t want to come back and find him in the hospital.”

“The hospital?” Stiles squeaked.

“That hardly ever happens,” Stark promised. “He’ll be fine.”

 

APRIL 1, 1943

Isaac sat in the interrogation room. The first time they brought him in here, he was calm. He was doing this for Melissa. The second time they brought him in here, he was frightened. They had kept him for days; were they going to charge him with something? This was the third time, and he was angry. The cigarette and cigar smoke was driving him crazy, and they hadn’t even started asking questions yet. He glared at the top of the interrogation table where they had chained his hands to it. 

He’d been her for six days. He only had one set of clothes. He was bored to death. He had spent most of his time thinking of Allison and Scott, using them to keep himself under control. 

Part of him knew that if he wanted to, he could break this chain and rip out every one of their throats. This would not help anyone. It would make him feel a good bit better though. He already knew what their questions were going to be. He hoped they would let him go soon. 

Assistant Director Rickett and Special Agent Fordham entered the room. He had watched enough movies to understand they were sweating him. 

Rickett sat down opposite him. “Hello, Isaac. Are you ready to cooperate today?”

Isaac gritted out. “I have been cooperating.”

Fordham, the bad cop in this negotiation, spat. “You’ve been lying to us. If you want out of here, you need to tell us the truth.”

Isaac gave Fordham his best intransigent glare. “I told you the truth. I’ve not been lying.”

Rickett opened up the same file they’ve been opening up during every interrogation. Isaac wondered why they even needed to do it anymore. They’ve must have read everything in there at least three times. They were trying to make him believe they already knew everything.

“How old are you, Isaac?” Rickett asked in a bored tone. It was the same questions every time.

“Seventeen,” he muttered. 

“Your mother and father are both dead, right?” 

“Yes. You know this.”

“Your mother died when you were six. Your father died just last year, didn’t he?” 

Isaac muttered. “Yeah. It’s been over a year ago.” 

“You had a brother who died, didn’t he?” Fordham demanded. “Camden?”

“Yes. You know this. Why do you keep asking me this?” Isaac demanded.

“We ask the questions here,” answered Fordham. “He died on the Arizona, didn’t he?” 

Isaac didn’t answer. He’d already answered it before. He wasn’t prepared for the next question.

“What would he think that his brother was helping a German spy?” Fordham sneered. “That you could shit on his sacrifice?”

Isaac jerked on his chains in response. He breathed heavily for a moment, but he had been practicing ever since he had been brought in. He wasn’t going to shift. He wasn’t going to shift. “I’ve told you before,” he growled, “Scott wasn’t a German spy.”

Rickett pretended like he was bored. “I’d rather talk about your father, Isaac.”

Fordham burst in. “Your father was murdered. Someone totally slashed him up.“ When Isaac didn’t confirm or deny it, he went on. “You were a suspect in the crime, weren’t you?” 

Rickett looked up at Fordham with mock concern without waiting for him to answer. “Yep. It was determined to be an animal attack. An animal attacked your father in his car in the middle of the city. You claim that this had nothing to do with you. Why did they suspect you?”

Isaac answered. “Someone thought they heard us fighting, but they changed their story.”

“Well, that’s not the only thing, Isaac. Turns out that there were many reports that you didn’t like your father disciplining you.” Fordham’s voice took on a sarcastic whine, implying that Isaac was being a baby about things. “He was too rough.” 

“Was that true,” asked Ricketts. “Was your father too rough with you?”

Isaac glared at both of them. 

“According to the first witness, he ‘kicked the crap out of you.’ You didn’t like that, did you? Is that how he got to you?” 

Isaac was confused. “How who got to me?”

“McCall. Is that how he got you to cover for him? To help him? He helps you kill your father, arranges for the investigation to get derailed. You get a new place to live, new friends. I understand – it must be difficult for a Nancy like you to make new friends.” Fordham spat. 

“What did you just say?” Isaac nearly shouted. 

Rickett falsely chided his colleague. “Oh, I am sure a judge will be lenient on such a gentle soul, Fordham. This is what we think happened, Isaac.” He closed the folder. “You were tired of your Dad picking on you for being such a limp-wristed son, so you got with McCall and arranged for him or you to murder your dad and this other kid – Jackson Whittemore – to lie about it. Then he had you move into his house and you all became fast friends.”

Fordham replied nastily. “Or lovers. They say all those Nazis are faggots anyway.” 

“That’s not true. You can’t say that!” Isaac whispered. He was trying to keep his heart steady. He clenched his fists. “You don’t have any evidence.”

“No, we don’t, do we, Boss?”

Ricketts continued. “No, we don’t.” He leaned forward. “But we have enough holes in the story of your father’s death plus nearly a dozen ‘deaths by animal attack’ to hold you for federal trial. Your buddy’s Dad can’t get you out of this. Eventually, though, it’ll go to court and the case will get thrown out. Given this is a federal case, this means you are looking at least four months minimum in Alcatraz before the trial begins.”

“You know how these cases are,” sneered Fordham. “The newspapers are all over them. The juicier the better.” 

“I am afraid that most of California will hear the details of our story before you even get to trial.” Rickett said with false commiseration. “That won’t be very positive for your long-term reputation. But that’s what we have now, and that’s what we’re going with.”

“Unless you give us a different story?” Fordham suggested.

Isaac had kept his eyes closed and he lowered his head. For the first time in a long time he knew exactly what to do. “I have a story for you,” he said softly. 

The FBI agents leaned forward. 

“I’m only telling it to my lawyer. You two can go to hell.” Isaac spat on the table without looking up.

Rickett snorted. Fordham got back up. “If that’s the way you want to play it, fine. You want to take the fall, it’s your call.” 

The FBI agents got up to leave. “Your lawyer will be here in a moment. Maybe he’ll like your story better than we do.”

Isaac waited until they were gone from the room to let out a breath. He willed his claws back into normal fingers. 

Another man came in. He was old and thin, possibly nearing seventy. He had wild gray hair and spectacles that threatened to fall off his nose. He looked like the cliché of a lawyer and not a real lawyer.

“Hello, Isaac. You aren’t having a very good time, are you? My name is Melvyn Bettemann. I’m going to represent you in your case.” 

Isaac looked at him. He didn’t seem dangerous. “Is someone helping Mrs. McCall?”

“Oh, yes. I’m helping with that as well. You’ll have to forgive me if it took me so long to get here. I was busy with hunting season.” He nodded significantly. “Now, let me review your case.” Bettemann started humming to himself.

Isaac relaxed. Allison had told him that her family had lawyers who knew all about the supernatural and that they relied upon when they had to deal with the courts. He wouldn’t have been able to trust a hunter’s lawyer, but he knew he could trust the Argents.

“I’ll do anything I can to help,” Isaac answered. This was a true answer.

“I know you will. Let me read what they have on you, please. It shouldn’t take too long.” The lawyer began reading the file quietly, his mouth moving along with the words. In a voice to quiet for anyone else to hear, Bettemann said. “They are probably listening, Isaac. If you can hear me, tap your right index finger on the table, twice.” 

Isaac did as he asked. 

“Good,” murmured the lawyer. “I know what really happened, and I know what they are going to say happened. You understand they’re trying to sweat you. That’s a problem.”

Isaac nodded. 

“They’ll put you in the general population in Alcatraz, hoping it will scare you into cooperating. I'm sure that there's no one in Alcatraz that can actually hurt you, but you'll need to keep control. You almost lost in here, didn't you? When they kept trying to get you to betray your alpha.” Mervyn Bettemann kept his voice so low only Isaac could hear it. To everyone outside, he was reading the file to himself.

Isaac nodded once again. What else was he going to do? Lie?

“You are going to have to keep better control. If it helps, think that will help both Mrs. McCall and your pack out, but I am afraid you will have a rough time of it.” He looks up at Isaac and then back down. 

Isaac repeated. “I just want to help, sir. That’s all I want.”

The lawyer looked down at the file once more. “Well, then, Isaac, you're going to have to endure prison for a while. And you're going to have to do _exactly_ what I say. If I tell you to lie, you lie. If I tell you to say nothing, you say nothing. Can you do that?"

Isaac didn't feel upset. He felt happy. Finally, there was something he could do instead of just standing back and having other people do the work. "You bet I can."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From what I have been able to dig up, the recognition of child abuse, especially against boys, is a recent development. In the 1940s, if the child wasn't hospitalized with a critical injury, it wasn't abuse. 
> 
> I may be exaggerating the corruption within Hoover's FBI in this instance for dramatic effect. However, there was enough propaganda against the Nazis being homosexual in the United States, due to the purging of the SA (the Sturmabteilung) in June of 1934's "Night of Long Knives" for the agents to hear about it and try to use it against Isaac.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott struggles to cope with being an unwilling guest on the _Jormungandr_. At the North African front, Stiles gets homesick.

APRIL 2, 1943

If he hadn’t been a kidnapped prisoner on an enemy warship, Scott McCall would have thought that this was the coolest thing ever. He had – and this is something he never in a million years thought he would be able to say – traversed the Arctic Ocean underwater. It was like something out of science fiction magazines that he and Stiles would have shared when they were hiding under covers of a blanket fort with a flashlight. He had even managed to get a glimpse of the massive walls and columns of ice that marked the top of the world.

It was the bright spot in a trip that had tested Scott’s patience. He knew he was in trouble, and he knew it wasn’t a little trouble. The first problem he faced was trying to keep control of himself. He had managed when he had lost Allison as his anchor to find a temporary anchor in himself, or rather, he had found a temporary anchor in his image of himself as human and not a monster who would just hurt people for no reason. But now he realized he didn’t mind the idea of hurting people like Schmidt, Barker, or the Hydra troops on the submarine. Part of him, to be honest, wanted to hurt them in a way he had only desired to hurt someone once before. 

Since he’d been bitten, there had been many opportunities for him to hurt people when he was out of control, but few of them had been people he wanted to hurt. When he fought with others, he forced himself to push any anger and hatred he felt down where it couldn’t control his actions. He hadn’t wanted to become the type of person who would enjoy slashing someone open. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t had people he could be legitimately angry at; there was Jennifer Blake and Deucalion for example. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t had people he could legitimately hate; there was Derek and Peter. In the end, his hatred of Derek wasn’t fair at all and he nursed his hatred of Peter like a warm fire next to his heart, but he didn’t want to hurt them. He didn’t want to kill anyone, but …

The only person he had every really wanted to hurt was Gerard Argent. 

When he had time to think about it, it was actually silly because Gerard Argent made the most sense when you thought about it. He was trying to cure his cancer, and the old man stabbing him in the stomach and choking his mother as threats were means to an end. Wouldn’t he be tempted to do that if he knew he was dying? 

But the truth was that all the others he had fought with had motivations that came from injustice being committed against them; he didn’t agree with their methods, but he could see the wrongness of the acts that pushed them forward. Jennifer Blake had done nothing to merit being slashed up and left for dead. Deucalion had been a peace activist before he was blinded (yeah, he had gotten the real story from Deaton). Derek had seen his family destroyed before his very eyes; no wonder he had been so violent and obsessive. Even Peter – _even Peter_ – had been left burned and in a coma. As much as Peter used it to excuse his actions, it didn’t make the fact that it had happened untrue. He’d never forgive Peter for what he had done, but he didn’t want to hurt him more. 

Gerard Argent was different. Cancer was scary, but there were real options that he could take to prolong his life. He could even have gotten the bite if he had bargained for it. But he was so hateful, so ruthless, so uncaring, that he was unwilling to take the slightest risk of not getting what he wanted. Gerard Argent believed in no one but himself, not even his family or the Code that governed it. 

Scott thought even now of the old man sitting in a chair in that dingy little apartment, spewing black ichor for the rest of his days. It was wrong, he knew, but he smiled anyway.

In the twelve days he had been on this submarine, he had learned one very important thing. As bad as Gerard Argent was, Johann Schmidt was far, far worse. Gerard had wanted to live, no matter what. Everything else was secondary to that one desire. Johann Schmidt wanted the world to be as he desired it, and he would burn everyone and everything if it did not conform to that desire. Scott wanted to hurt him; he wanted to hurt everyone who followed him, who thought like he did. Because the thing that Schmidt was burning right now was him. The Red Skull had burned away his family, his friends, his pack, and had threated to burn away his future.

Scott had never daydreamed about killing anyone before. He didn’t like how good it felt. This made control difficult. You can’t anchor yourself when you actually want to lose control.

Scott looked up to see Linde looking at him in turn. “Uh. Where were we?” He was having German lessons. Two hours a day, he sat with Linde and learned how to read and write the language. Scott had originally thought to refuse the lessons, but he caught the scent of terror coming from Linde. His “aide” would most likely get in trouble if Scott refused to do it.

Scott had relented. At least, he would have something to do while he sat on a submarine. It also might come in handy when he escaped. He didn’t have a plan yet, because he’d never been outside of Beacon County in his life. 

Linde smiled and brought him back to verb conjugations. Scott couldn’t figure Linde out. On the one hand, he was a German soldier, a Nazi, and a member of Hydra. On the other hand, he was young, pretty bright, and very friendly. Scott tried hard to make himself be angry at Linde, but there were times when he forgot to be. It was annoying.

Finally, as they were nearing the end of the two-hour class, Scott couldn’t avoid it anymore. “Why did you join Hydra?” 

“I want to be an engineer.” He immediately replied. “But my family didn’t have the wealth to send me to school. We lost everything after Versailles.” 

“What has that to do with Hydra?” Scott wondered. 

“It has everything to do with Hydra!” Linde raised his voice enthusiastically, but then he seemed a little embarrassed. “You don’t know anything about Germany. You don’t know anything about Der Grosse Krieg.” 

“Yeah, I do. We fought in it.” Scott knew several people who had fought in it. He even knew members of the Bonus Army. 

“But you didn’t lose it. You don’t know what that loss did to us, how we were betrayed by our own leaders.” Linde’s eyes suddenly were lit with fervor. “My family used to be well-off. We weren’t rich like the Jews, but we could have afforded to send me to a good school. Now, we have nothing. My father has to work at a factory. My mother works at a bakery. We lost everything.” 

“You weren’t even born …”

“That doesn’t matter. My family was. If I want to be an engineer, I have to find a way to learn. Hydra will teach me. They’re making Germany strong again.” 

Scott sucked on his teeth. There were no upticks in his heart so there were no lies. Linde believed this. He believed that Hydra and the Nazis were making things better. “Even if it means taking me from my home and everyone I care about?” 

Guilt flashed across Linde’s face. It must be the same for him; he was beginning to like him a lot. “Yes. Even so. If your being with us allows Germany to win, then that’s what it takes.” It sounded like something he was taught.

Scott sighed. He thought that maybe he could persuade Linde that he was wrong, but what the hell would that do? It wouldn’t do anything but make the man unhappy. It certainly wouldn’t help him escape. 

After the lesson, it was time for him to go to the infirmary. It was the same thing every day. He would go there, she would take a blood sample, ask him questions, and then he would leave. He didn’t hate Dr. Woltzmann-Barker like he did Schmidt, but he didn’t like her much either.

“What’s this for?” He demanded as he rolled up his sleeve. 

“Research,” she replied without inflection.

The conversation with Linde earlier was still aggravating him and now her practiced disinterest in his existence as a human being aggravated him even more. As she leaned forward to take the sample, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. “You know, I think we’re done here.”

The doctor lifted her head and for the first time and looked him in the eye. Calculating.

“Schmidt is right about one thing and one thing only. I could probably kill every single person on this ship, but I can’t sail it back home. I gave in because I can’t change that fact. And I’m not going to get my ‘aide’ in trouble by refusing to dress or learn German. But you? I don’t give a damn about you, so this … _research_ … is done.” With his other hand he took the needle out of her hand and smashed it. His blood dropped down onto the table. “Anyone tries to take my blood again, I’ll break one of their bones.”

Dr. Woltzmann-Barker cocked her head to the side. She was mildly interested. 

Scott was shocked that she wasn’t more upset. After all, wasn’t this her whole reason to join with Hydra? It didn’t occur to him until she pulled her arm free of his. “You didn’t need any more samples, did you?” When all she did was smirk, he growled. “You already had enough. This was his idea. This was about obedience.” 

“You will find young man that it would be in your best interest to give in. This isn’t high school. Herr Schmidt is apparently quite skilled at getting dogs to heel at his command.”

“I’m not a dog.” He snarled. “And I’m not going to give in. How did he bring you to heel?” 

The geneticist did not answer. She simply began to pack up her medical equipment. “Farewell, Sturmscharführer McCall. In less than forty-eight hours, we’ll be in Germany, and we will most likely not meet again.” 

“You’d better hope we don’t,” Scott answered. He thought such a threat would sound hollow to his ears, but it did not. It sounded to him like he meant every word. He needed to get home; being here was beginning to make him think in ways he didn’t like. 

 

APRIL 4, 1943

Stiles laid in his bunk staring at the ceiling of the tent. He was exhausted from the amount of physical labor he had done today. He had thought the tough part of being in the Army would be the battles. He was pretty sure that was true, but he also realized that moving five thousand men from an island in Greece to a beach near Jijel in Algeria was a monumental task all in itself. 

Stiles was feeling … small. It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. He was a high-school junior. He was seventeen years old. But the events of the last year had given him the idea that he was capable. That he was useful. The last week had demonstrated to him that he was neither of those things.

He didn’t grasp military protocol. It was understandable, because he hadn’t been through basic training. Before, when he didn’t know anything, he was quick enough to be able to figure it out, but this was different. The protocol was based on tradition not on common sense, and it also required a certain deference to authority. When a superior office gave you an order, you followed it. Stiles had never followed an order without questioning it in his life. 

But he had quickly realized that the protocol was important. This wasn’t Beacon Hills. It wasn’t even the big city. It was war, and as stupidly asinine as orders and leaders could be, it had to be this way. Stiles, however, couldn’t just change overnight. 

He had managed to help with moving both the headquarters tent and the intelligence tent with only being yelled at twice. The first was by an angry sergeant when he wouldn’t stop getting in the way of the movers. The second was by an angry captain when he was just standing to the side to stop getting in the way of the angry sergeant. It was embarrassing. 

He had helped. He had tried to help. He had taken his Benzedrine and he had done all he could. He was sure that all the real soldiers thought he was an idiot and a clown. So now he was staring at the ceiling wondering what the hell he was doing here.

At least he felt more comfortable with Howard Stark. Stark wasn’t military, and he didn’t want to be military and he could care less about military protocol. He appreciated the military and the SSR needed his unmatched genius to reverse engineer and create counters to Hydra’s powered weaponry. Stiles had also found out that Stark had been closely involved with Project: Rebirth. 

He was still staring at the ceiling of the tent when the flap opened and the man himself appeared. “Stilinski!” He bellowed. “Are you asleep?”

“Uhm. Not anymore.”

“Great. I need your help.” Stark turned away and started heading toward his setup. 

“But you’re not even unpacked!” Stiles got out of bad, slid on his shoes and followed him. “You don’t have anything put together.”

“That’s the problem!” shouted Stark back at him. “Stiles Stilinski, inspiration waits for no man!”

Stiles grumbled and followed after him. Stark’s tent was set up but everything, from equipment to notebooks, was still in boxes. “What do you need me to do?”

“In one of these boxes is the Hydra tech gun. In another one of these boxes is an electromagnetic set up. In one final box is a spool of fine wire. We need to find them.”

Stiles sighed. “Do we need to find them right now?”

“Yes. I just had an idea. I was looking for a material to absorb or deflect the plasma, but maybe there isn’t one. Maybe a low-grade magnetic field could deflect the plasma.” Howard start ripping open the boxes. “Don’t just sit there.”

“I’m sitting here because I’ve done more manual labor in the last seventy-two hours than I’ve done in the last three years!” Stiles exclaimed. “I’m _tired_.”

Howard Stark stood up from the box that he was digging through. “I’ve only know you for a few days, but I think I am a pretty good judge of character. From what I can tell, you’ve been running with people that everyone else would be terrified of. You’ve helped them. Isn’t that true?”

“Yes.” Stiles fought off the urge to yawn. 

“Was there ever a time when you were scared out of your drawers, but you stood by them anyway?” 

“Yes.” That woke Stiles up a little bit more. 

“Why did you do it?” 

“Because I had to. Because they’d be hurt or killed if I didn’t.”

Howard Stark gestured with his hands as if that proved his point. “What you haven’t done is watched as a Hydra plasma rifle literally disintegrates a soldier in front of your eyes. I have. There isn’t even a corpse to send him home to his mother. One minute, there’s a person and then there is nothing. Now I don’t know when the next time will be that we fight Hydra, but when we do, more men from this division are going to die. Maybe someone I know. I have an idea how to stop it. Do you think I’m going to wait until tomorrow?”

Stiles looked embarrassed. “No.” He moved to the boxes. “Sorry.”

“’Sorry’ is the most useless word in the English language. I never use it.” Howard went back into the boxes. “I prefer to talk about the future, not the past. The best word in the English language is ‘Eureka!’” 

“Uh, Mr. Stark, that’s not English. That’s Greek.”

“No likes a know-it-all, Stilinski.” 

Stiles labored into the night with Stark, finally locating the parts that he needed and setting up racks for the testing of it. To be honest, the science was so far beyond him that he began to feel similar to the way he felt earlier that evening. Useless. However, since he had decided to help, Stark wasn’t the least bit exasperated on him. In fact, a little after midnight when they had decided to take a break, he told Stark his fear that he didn’t know enough science to be helpful. 

“Compared to me, Stiles, everyone in this camp is a moron when it comes to science. When I ask people to help me, I don’t need someone who is as much of a genius as I am. I’d be disappointed. I need people willing to help, willing to ask questions, willing to take risks, and willing to look stupid. You’ve been really good at all of those things.”

“Thanks, I think.” Stiles replied. 

“You know what I mean.” Howard suddenly produced some food and a bottle of bourbon. He poured each of them a drink. 

“I’m not eighteen yet,” Stiles protested. 

“And yet here you are, working in an army camp where we could be bombed into hell at any minute. I’ll take the risk of being arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a minor.” Howard handed the drink to Stiles. “Drink up. We did good work tonight.”

“How did you get involved with all this? With the SSR and Project Rebirth?”

“I’ve always been an engineer; I don’t do much in terms of pure theory. I take other people’s ideas and I apply them. I was working on my flying car idea when I was contacted by Dr. Erskine. He was confident that he could use radiation to stabilize the effect of the super-soldier serum he invented, but he had no idea how to practically create and focus that much radiation.” Stark touched his chest. “He needed an engineer; he needed me. After Erskine died, I realized how dangerous Hydra could be.”

“Are they really that dangerous?” Stiles knew they were the enemy, but he was surprised at Stark’s vehemence. 

“They’re fascists, Stiles. Some people think fascism is great because it makes the trains run on time or it makes everything peaceful and orderly. What they don’t understand is that the world isn’t about making the trains run on time or making everything orderly. Life isn’t like that. It’s chaotic; it’s messy, but it grows. New things are created. New things like my flying car.” 

Howard looked disgusted. “Fascists always have great reasons to do things. They’re going to make everything better. They’re going to fix the problems. They can find a lot of reasons to do it, but in the end, they’re always going to destroy more than they create. Science can help free humanity from poverty, from disease, from drudgery, but only if it is alive, only if it is free to grow; Hydra’s going to turn Science into the chains that bind us. This is how I stop them.”

Stiles could think of a few people he had met who always had a good reason for doing the wrong thing. 

Howard and Stiles drank and ate for another thirty minutes. Howard drank a lot more, but he was practiced at it. Stiles had two glasses and he was feeling a little tipsy. No, he was feeling a lot tipsy.

Stiles hiccupped and then laughed. “I haven’t felt like this since I …” He suddenly rubbed at his eyes; there was water in them. 

“Since what?”

“I took my best friend out to get him drunk when he broke up with his girlfriend. I didn’t realize he couldn’t get drunk, and neither did he and suddenly I was toasted and he was just angry.” Stiles took a deep breath and struggled to sit up. He didn’t realize why he was getting so emotional.

Howard looked shocked. “Your friend … this is the person that Schmidt kidnapped?” 

Stiles nodded and sniffled.

“Werewolves can’t get drunk? Shit, no wonder people think they’re monsters. I’d be a monster too if I couldn’t get liquored up.” Howard was trying to be funny and lighten the mood. 

Stiles chuckled. “I miss him. I’m afraid he’s never going to come back.” He hiccupped again. “I miss my dad. I miss home. I wish I didn’t have to come here. I wish none of this had happened. “ 

“Does it help that every man in every tent in this encampment feels the same way?” Howard asked. 

“No. It doesn’t. I mean, you don’t know what my life has been like for the last year. I’m not scared. I mean I’m not scared for me. _I’m not_.” Stiles insisted. “It’s not like I’m going to in a battle. I’m a glorified encyclopedia.”

Stark made a snorting noise and poured himself another drink. 

“Yeah, I shouldn’t feel sorry for myself. It’s just … everything’s so big here. It’s a war. I’m in _Africa_. I thought I did pretty well making it up, but now … it’s just so big. I’m not sure if I’m going to make a difference.”

“You already have, kid.” Stark took a big stiff drink. “If only to me. And I bet to Peggy as well. I know her; she always feel more comfortable when she knows what she’s doing.” 

“I guess.” Stiles shook his head. “I think I should hit the sack. What time do you need me tomorrow?” 

Howard Stark looked at the set-up. He needed to sleep, as well. It helped clarify his thinking. “As soon as you can. Bring me breakfast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that I have completely and utterly botched the timeline. I placed Captain America's rescue of the Howling Commandos in January of 1943, but I realized that American troops hadn't landed in Northern Europe (where it is pretty obvious the movie is set) until June of 1944 (a little thing called D-Day). I have no idea how to fix this. I'll let you know if I abandon the story, but I may have to rewrite significant portions.


End file.
